


I’ll Take the Blame, You Take My Conscience

by olddarkmachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Blood and Violence, CHECK THE NOTES BEFORE CHAPTERS FOR EXTRA WARNINGS, Gun Violence, Human Trafficking, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pining, Revenge, Sex, THERE'S A GANG WAR, Torture, Yakuza, a yakuza love story, at least flowery worded sex lol because im not very good at being explicit, at least i think it will be lol, imma be honest there's gonna be suffering BUT EVERYTHING GON BE OKAY, just the way i like my AUs lol, maybe more tags to come, pain and suffering, they love each other but it's never that easy is it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olddarkmachine/pseuds/olddarkmachine
Summary: “You love him.”It wasn’t a question. Panic burned the back of Shiro’s throat as his eyes widened at the statement. He had known his feelings for Keith for some time now, but he knew better than to act on it, aware that he was nothing more than a friend in his best friend’s eyes. It was better for everyone if he just kept it to himself. At least, that’s what he had thought. Then he’d started noticing small things, like how sometimes Keith would let his hands linger on his skin for a fraction longer than he needed to, or how he could feel his gaze tracing the long line of his body when he thought Shiro wouldn’t notice. He’d been planning on telling Keith how he felt at the party. It was amazing how quickly things could change.“Let him go, Shiro. He’ll need a tool, not a lover. And your love will only make him weak.”AKA the one where Keith is the leader of a Yakuza clan, Shiro is his ever loyal tool, and they're caught in a gang war.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a very self indulgent fic, I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I am already enjoying writing it :) Please note I only know as much about the Yakuza as google-- and google translate-- can supply me.
> 
> Here are some helpful terms:  
> Sumiyoshi-kai- The second largest Yakuza family. Rivals of the Yamaguchi-gumi family.  
> Shinku no Raion- Keith's clan. Means Crimson Lions. A clan in the Sumiyoshi-kai family.  
> Yamaguchi-gumi- The largest Yakuza family. Rivals of the Sumiyoshi-kai family.  
> Murasaki no Akuma- Zarkon's clan. Means Purple Demons. A clan in the Yamaguchi-gumi family.  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.  
> Kobun- Clan members
> 
> Nothing too terribly violent this chapter, there's lots of history and mention of death but nothing graphic.

The rainy season had been particularly hard this year. The downpour was unrelenting, and had been for the past week, stopping only long enough to smother the citizens of Yanaka with a heavy blanket of humidity. It was a suffocating and claustrophobic time of year that caused the Shinku no Raion’s activity to come to a complete standstill. They were a lesser known clan of the Sumiyashi-Kai yakuza family, one that had found their start in the early 70s and had tried valiantly to crawl their way from the bottom of their family's barrel only to find themselves stuck as a bottom tier clan. Daiki Kogane had a plan to change that. When he'd joined the Shinku no Raion, he had been nothing but a poor kid, kicked out of his own home with nothing but the clothes on his back and a dream to change his crime ridden town. 

 

If that meant joining the Yakuza clan that had been terrorizing his home to change it from the inside, so be it. 

 

His singleminded focus helped him fight his way through the ranks until he landed himself the seat to the right of the then oyabun, and as luck would have it, found himself at the head of the table after the oyabun was found shot to death in his car. It was an unfortunate incident, one that was a hazard that came with being in the Yakuza, even if it was just one still trying to make a name for themselves. Due to this, no one thought twice when his body turned up with a single gunshot wound to the heart and no one batted an eye when the title of the childless leader was passed to Daiki. 

 

It was the only time Daiki Kogane used his gun for anything other than self defense.

 

After claiming his throne at the head of the clan, he set his plan into motion. Under his rule, the Shinku no Raion would start to protect small businesses in towns around Tokyo, as well as big businesses in the city. The former, the clan would protect for a small fee, only taking what they needed and never taking more than the business could afford. The latter, the clan would protect for a much larger sum that would keep their own family running. Daiki strictly prohibited sex and drug trafficking, and needless violence, ordering his men only to fight in defense. Anyone in the clan that wanted to take part in such activities promptly found themselves without a clan. The most prominent of those who were banished from the clan, was Daiki's own saiko-komon Zarkon. Vowing to destroy everything Daiki worked so hard to build, Zarkon stole away in the middle of the night, the promise to return filled with so much venom it sounded more like a curse. Yet Daiki continued his work. 

 

Yanaka welcomed the clan with open arms, their streets having been cleaned up greatly since the Shinku no Raion's turn around, and gifted them an old temple that had been abandoned since WWII. It would soon become a home for the clan's members as well as a base of operations. Shortly after the move to Yanaka was when Daiki met the love of his life, Hikaru Masumi. Their love was a passionate and fiery thing, burning so hot and so bright that those who looked too long found themselves blinded by it. There wasn't long before he took her as his wife, and even less before they announced that they were pregnant. Yes, it was a fiery, passionate thing. 

 

And like all things that burn that bright, it quickly burned out. 

  
Hikaru didn't survive the birth of their son. With a final shuddering breath, she’d named the child Keith, and left Daiki alone with a son to raise and a clan to run. Six years had passed since, and the current oyabun sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the his most trusted advisors, save for one. His current saiko-komon had not shown up at the beginning of the meeting, something that would have caused him alarm if it had been anyone else. Coran Smythe was a flamboyant foreigner that had reminded Daiki of himself when he'd shown up at the temple as a stray four years prior. He trusted him implicitly, knowing Coran almost as well as he knew himself, and he knew if he wasn't there it was for something important. The rain continued to beat down on the roof, nearly drowning out the rumbling around the table as his advisors waited for him to start the meeting. A small tug on his sleeve shook Daiki from his thoughts. 

 

"Can I have some too?" Keith asked, pointing a small hand at his father's sake glass. His violet eyes peered up through his messy black bangs as he smiled hopefully up at his dad. Daiki's heart ached at his son's expression. He looked more and more like Hikaru every day. Recovering quickly, he returned the smile and ruffled the mop of hair atop Keith's head. 

 

"Sorry, kiddo, you don't get to drink this until it's your turn to rule the roost." If his son noticed the slight strain in his voice, he didn't let on. Of course, as a six-year-old, Keith really didn't care. He just wanted a glass like his dad. A scowl disrupted his childish features as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

 

"Well can I rule the roost now?" He glowered, the effect lost slightly by the fact his r's still sounded a bit more like w's. The remark garnered a loud bark of laughter from his father, which silenced the group as they turned towards their leader and his son. After the loss of his wife, there had been whispers amongst the kobun about whether or not Daiki would continue leading the Shinku no Raion or if he'd step down due to the grief. His waka gashira silenced the rumors, informing any that doubted him were more than welcome to leave. In the end, Daiki proved his advisors right, pulling through his grief after just a month and throwing himself deep into the clan's affairs whilst keeping Keith close the entire time. As a clan made up of mostly strays, their leader's attention to both his role in the organization and his role as a father cemented their respect. While they still weren't at the top of the family's hierarchy, they grew greatly under his diligent rule. 

 

"You wouldn't put your dad out of a job, would you?" Daiki asked, laughter dancing in the light of his obsidian eyes as he pushed his chair back to stand. Keith watched as his father walked to the cupboard with the glasses and grabbed one that was made of orange clay and painted to look as if the glass itself was molded fire. Pouring water into the cup, he brought it back over to his boy, who was practically vibrating with excitement. 

 

"Now Keith, we're about to start. You know what that means, right?" Daiki's voice was authoritative as he fixed his son with a firm look and holding the glass out of his reach to ensure he held his attention. Keith nodded obediently as he prattled off what he'd been told multiple times before. 

 

"Sit at my table and don't disrupt the grown ups." 

 

"That's my boy." As his father handed him the glass, the boy took it gently with both hands and held it as if it were something more akin to a baby bird as opposed to a cup of water. With his eyes trained on the glass, he toddled over to the small table in the corner of the meeting room that was designated as his. Papers, crayons, markers, and a solitary stuffed hippo littered the mahogany surface. He was never sure what the grownups were talking about whenever they got around their table. Usually they would talk in hushed tones as if to keep him from hearing, not that it mattered since all he really wanted to do was draw and play with Mr. Po-- the hippo. Tonight was no exception as he drank out of his glass that matched his father's and started to draw a picture of his dad with a red lion. He really hoped he liked it. Keith's tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as his eyebrows drew together in concentration as he worked on the drawing.   


The meeting continued and the rain never let up. Keith was about to move onto his next drawing when the door to the room suddenly slid open to reveal a soggy looking Coran. His ruddy hair hung around his face as water dropped from it, dotting the floor with moisture and his normally light brown coat was stained dark by the rain. This wasn't what had caused the room of Yakuza to fall silent though. Besides Coran, holding tightly onto his pants leg, was a boy that looked to be about Keith's age. The child's black hair was marred by a white striping of bangs that hung damply in his face, and his eyes shone with fear and tears, yet he puffed out his chest in an attempt to make himself look larger. Over the room hung a thick, tense silence as the men looked at Coran. Daiki’s eyes were sharp as he took in his friend in the doorway. Keith’s, on the other hand, were filled with joy as he took in the sight of the kid with his dad’s saiko-komon. There weren’t too many other kids in the clan. In fact, the only other two were Lance and Hunk, and Keith didn’t really like hanging out with the four-year-olds. Lance was really loud, and he didn’t like that whenever he played with them he felt like he was being left out of some inside joke. One look at the wisp of a kid in the doorway was all Keith needed to know that they were going to be best friends. He was going to make sure of it. 

 

“That’s all for tonight,” Daiki’s voice was sharp and authoritative as he dismissed the waka gashira at the table. One by one they stood and shuffled out of the room, passing Coran and the child on the way. The red head’s shoulders tensed as the last of them exited, leaving just him, Daiki and the two children. 

 

“C’mon, how about you go sit with Keith?” Coran said lightly to the boy, his words accented by his European dialect. With a steady hand, he led the boy into the room and towards where Keith sat. The latter smiled, hoping that it would help make himself look more inviting. With a small sniffle, the child let go of his escort’s pants, and stood staring at the table and its contents as Coran walked away to join Daiki. If Keith was a bit older, maybe he would have been more interested in what they were saying in whispered tones on the other side of the room. Be it as it may, he turned to the black and white haired boy that stood next to him. Smiling wider, he patted on the chair that was next to him in the universal sign of “sit down.”

 

“Wanna draw?” He asked brightly. The boy looked so sad, and he didn’t like it. The newcomer’s steely eyes flickered between the seat and Keith’s smile before he finally plopped down on the seat without a word. Slowly, Keith pushed a piece of paper and a crayon towards him in a peace offering. The boy took it, and finally gave Keith a small, tearful smile. It was a start. 

 

“He has no one?” Daiki’s voice was gruff as his eyes flickered to the boy who sat with his son. Coran nodded sadly, water droplets falling from his hair with the motion. 

 

“None, sir. They were all taken.” There was a beat before the oyabun let out a resigned sigh and nodded.

 

“Fine, he can stay.” He eyed the children on the other side of the room as he saw his son smile brightly and offer his hand to the boy. 

 

“I’m Keith!” He heard him say happily. There was a beat before the other boy took his son’s hand.

 

“My name’s Shiro.”

 

***

 

“C’mon, man, cut me some slack,” Keith wheezed as he rubbed his chest in an attempt to get his lungs to start working properly again. “It is my birthday after all.” Shiro laughed as he slung and arm around Keith’s shoulder, pulling the smaller boy into his side. They’d both grown into fine young men in the 12 years it had been since that humid, rainy night they’d met, but Shiro had really blossomed. He’d grown to be a few inches taller than Keith, his shoulders had become broader, and he leant towards more muscle whereas Keith was lean. It was something the future leader of the Shinku no Raion was painfully aware of. Shiro was his best friend, but recently he’d started to notice him more. Whenever he was around, Keith found it harder to breathe-- and not just because he’d just received a kick to the solar plexus-- not to mention whenever they trained together, his skin would burn from his friend’s touch. And sometimes, he could swear that he’d catch Shiro’s gaze full of an electricity that sent a spark through his veins. 

 

Most days he was very good about pushing down the feelings and focusing on something else to take his mind off of them until he was alone in his room, but right now, as he was pressed into Shiro’s bare side, he was having a pretty tough time. 

 

“And a happy 18th to you,” his friend smiled as he pressed his face close to Keith’s before dropping a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “But what good would I be as your saiko-komon if I took it easy on you and let you take a break just because you’re old now?” His mouth was close to his ear, and his breathe made the hair at the nape of his neck dance, sending a thrill down his spine. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get back to training then.” Keith didn’t intend for his voice to be so angry, but it was always an easier option than letting how he really felt show. Pushing himself away, he lowered himself into a fighting stance. Yes, he’d gotten good at hiding his feelings towards his best friend, even if it meant turning to anger as his armor. The rest of the clan chalked it up to him being a teenager and the son of the oyabun. He wasn’t sure what Shiro thought of it, but if he thought Keith was nothing more than a spoiled brat with an anger issue, he never showed it. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought he saw hurt flash across his best friend’s eyes for a moment before he masked it with his award winning smile. 

 

“Suit yourself,” Shiro said simply. Their training continued as they circled each other in an intricate dance of punches, dodges and kicks. Keith put everything he wanted to say behind the attacks and movement, knowing that Shiro couldn’t possibly know what it all meant, but getting solace from the fact that in training at least, he could tell his friend how he felt. 

 

Punch. _I need you._

 

Kick. _I’d be lost without you._

 

Dodge. _I love-_

 

“Don’t you two ever get tired of training?” A sarcastic voice interrupted his flow, causing him to stumble. A strong, protective arm caught him before he hit the ground. Their chests were both heaving as they struggled for air, and Shiro’s hold branded Keith’s skin like a hot iron. This was all Lance’s fault, he thought bitterly as he pulled out of the tight grasp and avoided eye contact. He shot the lanky teen in the doorway his infamous Kogane Scowl, so named because he and his father shared the same bitter and disdainful look that almost always caused their victims to promptly stop speaking. Except Lance, who Keith suspected wouldn’t even stop talking if he was dead. Though the pair had grown closer over the years, there was still something about the 16-year-old that grated on Keith’s nerves. That something razed his insides as he watched his best friend greet the string bean of a teen with a bright smile. Lance was great with a gun though, something he constantly had to remind himself whenever he was around and pushing his luck. _Trust me, you’ll want a good gun guy on your side when you take over_ , his father had said.

 

“It’s your freakin’ birthday, mullet head, you can’t take a break? You’re making the rest of us look bad.” Of course, he was sure he could probably find another sharpshooter if he really needed to. 

 

“Leave Keith alone, ya dork,” a friendlier, less irritating voice joined them in the training room. Hunk was Lance’s much, much better half and when Shiro wasn’t around, Hunk was always the one to keep the two volatile boys from raising too much of a ruckus. Hunk’s arm slung around Lance’s shoulders, silencing the teen of the retort that danced at the tip of his tongue. 

 

“Happy birthday, Keith.” 

 

Standing together in the training room, it almost felt as if they were normal teenagers. The scars that already littered their skin from skirmishes during minor jobs they’d been allowed on were the only thing that gave hint to the fact that instead of any other teenagers, they were the future of a Yakuza clan. It was a sweet moment that helped them into a complacent headspace. Things had been peaceful for as long as any of them could remember, having never known a time when the Shinku no Raion were caught up in anything other than their own affairs and keeping the towns in their territory safe.

 

It was a false peace that wouldn’t last.

 

The clan had gathered that evening in the temple to celebrate Keith’s birthday. It was loud and joyous in the temple’s main garden where they all stood, drinking and talking. In one corner of the garden, Lance and Hunk had started a poker game in which all the money collected would be given to the future oyabun for his birthday. It would be a kind gesture if Keith hadn’t known it was because Lance was too cheap to actually get him something. Not one for large groups, and even less of one for parties, the birthday boy sat on a bench in the shadows on the opposite end of the garden, tipping back the last of the contents in his ceramic sake glass. It was the same orange one from all those years ago when he’d first asked his father if he could have one, and it almost felt symbolic. Something was causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end and it had his nerves on high alert. The coolness of the evening air was the only thing that fought the stifling feeling from suffocating him. 

 

“Sake for your thoughts?” Shiro’s voice was low, laced with alcohol. The smile that accompanied it was sharp and sinful. Keith wondered if it was the same smile Lucifer wore when he fell from heaven. He also wondered if Shiro knew about the knots of desire that that smile twisted low in his stomach. Without asking, he poured more sake from a ceramic flask into Keith’s cup as he dropped down next to him. His knee knocked into Keith’s, the jolt enough to make him jump at the touch, but not enough to make him move to make room for his best friend. Without a word, he took a sip of the refilled liquid, enjoying the slow burn as it made its way down. Emboldened by the liquid courage, he let himself fall against Shiro’s side with a sigh.

 

“Does something feel wrong to you?” Keith asked, aware of the slight slur to his words. He hadn’t had enough to make himself classify as drunk, but he had had enough that everything felt slightly fuzzy around the edges. It wasn’t enough to set his nerves at bay though. As he stared up at the starless sky, he felt the larger teen’s body vibrate with his low chuckle. 

 

“Right now?” Shiro shifted to look down at his friend, who was pressed into his side and staring up into the night sky. The lights of the lanterns that had been strung up colored his skin with a red glow. He couldn’t help but notice the milky scar that ran just above his best friend’s eyebrow and down towards the corner of his eye popped in the light. He wasn’t sure if it was the sake, but he desperately wanted to press a kiss to it. 

 

“No. No everything feels pretty right to me.” Keith tried to ignore the way his heart flipped in his chest, opting to let his head fall onto Shiro’s shoulder. They sat in silence as his eyes found his father, who stood laughing by the temple gates with Coran. Almost as if he sensed his gaze, Daiki’s eyes turned towards his son and smiled largely with pride. In that moment, Keith thought maybe Shiro was right.

 

That’s when the sound of gunfire tore through the night sky.

 

Havoc broke out in the temple as bullets sprayed through the temple gate. Blood started to color Daiki’s shirt, whose eyes had gone wide with shock as he looked down as the red stain grew. An inhuman cry rang in Keith’s ears before he’d realized it was his own as he saw his father crumple to the ground, Coran falling to shield him as his own blood started to fall from a wound in his shoulder. He noticed several members of his clan on the ground, crimson soaking into the ground around them. Those that hadn’t been wounded by the first spray of bullets pulled out their guns, the light of the lanterns dancing off the cool metal as they aimed for the gates as they swung open. There was barely even a moment to react as a flood of men pooled into the temple, guns blazing. All Keith had the time to take in was the hulking man that leant towards his father, sneering as he pointed a gun at Coran, before strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him off the bench. 

 

Shiro ran quicker than he’d ever run in his life. Any alcohol that had been in his system had dissipated in an instant as he held Keith to him, running for the back exit of the temple so he could get his friend to safety. This was what he’d been training for his whole life, and yet now that it was here, he’d felt at a loss for what to do. His oyabun had been murdered in front of his eyes, and who knew what happened to Coran. Now was not the time to think about the pain that was spreading through his chest though. First he had to keep Keith safe. The pops of the gunfire followed them through the hall, making their ears ring. Rounding the corner that would lead them to the hidden back exit of the temple, Shiro suddenly stopped. Standing there, blocking the way, was the man that had leant over Daiki with that cruel snarl on his face, and a long sword in his hand.

 

“Hello, little oyabun,” the man’s growling voice sounded like crunching gravel as he addressed Keith. His eyes were filled with a sinister light as he eyed them. Shiro felt his hackles raise. “The Murasaki no Akuma send their regards.” Everything happened in slow motion for Keith as he saw the man run towards them with his long sword raised, and he saw Shiro pull his gun from his waistband and stepped forward between them. He heard the ring of the gunshot and saw the flash of the sword swinging toward Shiro, and he felt the blood the splattered across his face. 

 

That was the last thing he remembered before he awoke in the clan’s safe house, tucked into a futon. He’d wandered out of the room to find Coran and Shiro sat together outside on the small home’s patio. The safe house was tucked into the woods just outside of Yanaka, and overlooked a small lake. To any outsider, it looked like an old cabin that may have once belonged to a hermit. It was a quaint little thing that provided shelter in the worst of times, not that Keith had ever expected they would need it. Coran’s arm was tied across his chest, and bruises colored the pale skin of his face, and though he looked worse for wear, Keith breathed a sigh of relief to see him alive. The red head’s eyes were vacant as he stared ahead at the lake, not acknowledging Keith’s presence. Shiro looked up from the pistol he had been polishing, eyes soft as he let out a sigh. An angry red gash ran across his friend’s face and was held together by thin white butterfly bandages. Keith reached his hand forward almost as if to touch the wound, before he hissed and pulled his hand back.

 

“You’re awake.” Shiro’s voice was laced with relief and sorrow. 

 

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice was husky with disuse. “What happened?” His best friend then recounted the events of his birthday to him, starting with the death of his father, to how he had fought the head of the Murasaki no Akuma-- Zarkon-- in order to get them out, to the past three days that Keith had been asleep at the safe house. The clan was in mourning, and they were waiting for him, the new oyabun to return to lead them into war. As Shiro explained everything, Coran only showed emotion when the name Zarkon came up. Something about the name stirred an old memory deep within Keith’s mind but no matter how hard he tried to think of it it seemed to evade him. A heavy silence had settled over the three Yakuza as the severity of the situation became more clear. 

 

Keith was the new leader of the Shinku no Raion. Everything his father had worked to build up now rested solely within his hands, and he wasn’t ready at all. Sensing the tension rolling off Keith in waves, Shiro threw his arm around his best friend and pulled him close. The three of them sat in silence for what felt like hours, Coran’s glassed over eyes staring out over the woods and Keith and Shiro wrapped around each other as if they could pull comfort from deep within the other. Traitorous tears slipped down his face and landed on his best friend’s shirt. After what felt like hours Keith retired back into the safe house, shoulders sagging with the weight of the clan that now rested upon them, Coran cleared his throat.

 

“You love him.”

 

It wasn’t a question. Panic burned the back of Shiro’s throat as his eyes widened at the statement. He had known his feelings for Keith for some time now, but he knew better than to act on it, aware that he was nothing more than a friend in his best friend’s eyes. It was better for everyone if he just kept it to himself. At least, that’s what he had thought. Then he’d started noticing small things, like how sometimes Keith would let his hands linger on his skin for a fraction longer than he needed to, or how he could feel his gaze tracing the long line of his body when he thought Shiro wouldn’t notice. He’d been planning on telling Keith how he felt at the party. It was amazing how quickly things could change. 

 

“Let him go, Shiro. He’ll need a tool, not a lover. And your love will only make him weak.” The older man turned his attention back to the lake as if he hadn’t just ripped Shiro apart from the inside out. His words had cut him deeper than any weapon could have, but he wouldn’t show it. They lived in a dark world, only made darker by the declaration of war by the Murasaki no Akuma on the Shinku no Raion. Before the death of Daiki, maybe they could have worked. Now, Keith needed a tool, and that’s exactly what Shiro would be.

 

***

 

It had been seven years since the death of Daiki Kogane, and the Shinku no Raion had finally reached the potential that he’d seen in it from the beginning. The hold they had on the territories in and around Tokyo had garnered them much notice within their family, and the war that still waged between them and the Murasaki no Akuma only cemented their reputation as a clan that should be feared and respected. Amongst the people they protected, their name was whispered with hopeful appreciation and amongst those that threatened them, it was whispered with fearful awe. Under the rule of the new oyabun and his faithful dog, the Shinku no Raion was a necessary evil that even the police force wouldn’t touch. 

 

Keith scrubbed a hand down his tired face, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes as he tried to focus on the file that had been gathered on the Murasaki no Akuma. Shortly after the position had been forcefully handed to him, he’d learned all about their enemy and how their leader, Zarkon, had been his father’s saiko-komon when he’d first come into power. It had opened a dark part of Daiki’s history to him that blurred the edges of the near pacifistic leader his dad had been. Prior to his death, Keith had always thought of him as the man who instructed his men to only fight when threatened, and to never take more than could be afforded. Before his death, he had been a man that took the hand he’d been dealt and turned it into an opportunity to make good. After, Keith had gotten a glimpse of his father’s darker side as he learned he’d been the one to murder his own oyabun in order to get to the position he’d held. Feeling cheated of the position after having served in the clan since birth, Zarkon had made a deadly promise to get his revenge. His father had been a fool to think that that darkness he’d kept a blind eye to would never come into the light to destroy him. Now Keith had been fighting a gang war that had spanned longer than anyone could have imagined, and he was tired. 

 

The bustle of Kabukichō outside the window of the meeting space was a constant hum of voices and sirens. It was like a blanket that settled over his skin and offered him some small comfort. Kabukichō had been a major Yakuza hot spot until the early 2000s when the police had tried to get a better hold on the city. Installing CCTV, and tightening police presence in the area, Shinjuku’s red-light district had rid itself of nearly all its crime. At least, any crime that was caused by any clans. Shiro and the rest of his waka gashira had looked at him as if he were crazy when he’d suggested they move their headquarters from the temple to the hustle and bustle of the entertainment district. _The best place to hide is in plain sight,_ Keith had said. While the idea had been met with a fair amount of apprehension, the clan followed. Though a risky move, their headquarters had been located between a hole-in-the-wall bar and a cheap love motel since. 

 

His notion for hiding in plain sight held true for the temple as well. After the attack, Keith had announced that they would fix up the temple, and anyone who needed a home would still be allowed to live there. He wasn’t going to run from the only home he’d ever known, and the Murasaki no Akuma wouldn’t attack them in the same place twice. Their entire attack had hinged on the aspect of surprise, which would forever be lost to them. 

 

Keith’s violet eyes kept rereading the same line in the file with a date and time for a suspected sex trafficking trade the Akuma were going to be heading. The words turned bleary as his eyes fell in and out of focus on the information. He hadn’t been sleeping well the past couple of days, and he hated to admit the reason why. It was like this every time _he_ went out on a solo job. Shiro was never gone longer than a few days, yet those days were always hell while Keith sat at home waiting for him. His worry was unwarranted, as he was never sent on dangerous jobs alone. As far as anyone outside of a select few thought, Shiro was the true leader of the clan, a ruse he’d come up with himself as an added layer of protection for Keith. It was a plausible lie, and not only did the kobun believe it wholeheartedly, but so did the people they protected. Where Keith was a feral thing, lean with wild eyes and muscles always taut as if prepared to spring into action at any moment, Shiro exuded an air of calm confidence the way one would think the leader of the Raoin would be. It gave Keith the advantage of overseeing everything without directly having a target on his back, and it gave Shiro the advantage of controlling the front line to ensure his safety. The sound of the door being pushed openly slowly snapped his thoughts in half. Speak of the devil.

 

“Got another novel from Pidge, huh?” Shiro’s voice sounded almost as tired as Keith felt. 

 

“She’s great at her job, but sometimes I wish she’d just give me the highlights,” he chuckled as he closed the file. Pidge had been the newest addition to their clan, and her hacking skills were something of legend. They had garnered her the attention of the Public Security Intelligence Agency when she was just 15 years old, and they’d offered her a place in their cyber crime unit. The job had stuck until four years later when her family had been taken for the Akuma’s human trafficking ring. After going to her higher ups and having her faith in the justice system dashed, she turned to the clan whose name was whispered amongst the families of trafficking victims like a prayer. The then 19-year-old had shown up on their doorstep in Kabukichō demanding to see the oyabun, and when Shiro had walked in all welcoming smiles and kind words, she’d spat that she wanted to talk to the real leader. The short teen that looked like a stiff breeze could blow her away was nothing but wide eyes made even wider by too large glasses that sat on the tip of her nose, and yet in that moment she was controlling the room like a master puppeteer. She’d been a member of the clan for three years now, earning both leader and saiko-komon’s utmost respect, and landing herself the head of their administration team. With her, they were able to gather intelligence that helped spur them further to the forefront of the Sumiyoshi-Kai family.

 

With a relieved sigh, Keith turned from the folder to his best friend that was leaning casually against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over the his black button up, sleeves rolled up enough to show his strong forearms. If he felt the way his oyabun’s eyes raked over his body, he made no move to show it. In a fluid motion, Keith stood, crossing the room quickly to close the distance between them. Violet eyes locked onto a sickly bruise blossoming on the straight of his saiko-komon’s jaw. He clucked his tongue at him as he tenderly pressed two fingers to Shiro’s chin in order to push his head to the side to get a better look.

 

“Should see the other guy,” the man rumbled with a chuckle, aware of the angry heat that rolled off of Keith in waves. The leader knew already that if he looked at his best friend’s hands, he would see matching bruises painting his knuckles with angry reds and purples. He also knew that if Shiro didn’t tend towards wearing all black, he’d most likely see more blood that wasn’t his. He never doubted that his saiko-komon would come away with the lesser of the injuries, but it didn’t do much to assuage the anger that burned in the back of his throat. 

 

“He won’t be back,” he said lowly, voice dancing between subordination and something else that he and Keith had always left unsaid. It was all the invitation he needed to grab the material at Shiro’s chest and pull him down into a possessive and hungry kiss. There was a moment of hesitation before his best friend opened up into it. Molten fire roared through Keith’s veins as he felt strong hands find their way to his hair as Shiro pushed him back towards the wall in a smooth motion that didn’t break their contact. With his forearms on either side of Keith’s head as he braced himself against the wall, pressing further into his space and closing what little distance had existed between them both. He swallowed the groan the movement pushed from the smaller man’s mouth. The oyabun retaliated by nipping lightly at Shiro’s bottom lip and tugging on it gently as he pulled away to break the kiss. Their breath mingled together as their noses brushed, blown pupils assessing the other as they fought to slow the desire racing through their veins.

 

“I want you.” Those three words fell from Keith’s mouth with the dangerous weight that normally accompanied three different words. A flutter of yearning danced down Shiro’s spine. 

 

“You know we can’t,” he said lowly after a moment’s hesitation. Since that day at the safe house when Coran had warned him, he’d done everything he could to placate the feelings that had been growing between the both of them. That day he had vowed to be nothing but a tool for his best friend. A shield to keep him safe, a sword to fight his battles, and whatever else it was he ordered him to be. He had built up a thick wall between them, successfully breaking his own heart in the beginning before he started to throw himself head first into his role to mask the pain he’d caused. Now it hardly ached when he would catch the violet stare from across a room, and he barely noticed the stab in his ribs when they kissed. 

 

At least, that’s what he told himself.

 

“And if I tell you that’s an order?” Keith’s purred defiantly, his gaze daring Shiro to deny him.

 

“You always say it’s an order.” He was aware of the way his voice wavered and cracked, and saw the moment in his eyes when his best friend knew he’d won. Keith had been chipping away at his self control for some time, the thin fissures in his defenses running straight down into his heart, threatening to unleash the sea of feelings that was locked away there. No matter how hard Shiro tried to push him away, he couldn’t deny the man anything. Like a dog, he always returned to his master whenever he called. 

 

“So you should be used to it by now.” Their lips were just a breadth away again, the words tickling as they danced their way across Shiro’s skin and deep into his heart.

 

“I guess I can’t disobey orders.” Keith’s mouth covered his almost before he could get all the words out, claiming his prize. Fingers danced across tops of pants and belts, making quick work of buttons and buckles as they both worked to drink each other in. _I’ll be a shield to keep you safe, a sword to fight your battles, I’ll even be the heat in your bed_ , he repeated to himself like a mantra in his mind. It was all he could do to drown out the other words that screamed in the back of his mind.

 

“ _Your love will only make him weak._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAALL CHECK OUT THE AMAZING COMMISSION FROM PRINCE FOR ITTB! I'm seriously so in love, he captured exactly what I wanted and couldn't be any happier :) Not to mention, he was a dream to work with. Go give him some love!
> 
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/PRllNCE/status/922526652344782848)   
>  [Tumblr](http://prllnce.tumblr.com/post/166717037675/commission-for-theolddarkmachine-of-their-fic)


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy did this one end up a doozy. When I started it, I knew what I needed to happen in this chapter, but I didn't know how I was going to tell it. I ended up surprising myself in the direction it ended up. I also tried to bring in more of Hunk, Lance and Pidge, because I have a HORRIBLE habit of ignoring my side characters lol So I hope that didn't screw up the flow too much.
> 
> Please note that things do get a little bloody. This chapter also explores Shiro's PTSD. The section that is italicized is a memory, anything italicized outside of that large section is a thought. 
> 
> Helpful terms:  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.  
> Kobun- Clan members  
> Toyohashi- A city in between Kobe and Tokyo.  
> Hakone- A town about an hour from Tokyo.  
> Tantō- A short traditional sword carried by samurai.
> 
> Also, pretty sure if anyone checked my internet history and saw the things I had to google to talk about weaponry, they'd probably think I was up to no good. Oops. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING!

The morning after was always something Shiro cherished. Having always been an avid morning person, he would wake before Keith to find the oyabun tucked firmly into his chest. Soft, sleepy breaths would tickle his collar bone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Light would stream through the wooden slats of the blinds over the window above the bed, catching tendrils of dust that danced through the air and casting slices of brilliant white light across Keith’s skin. He would press his lips to the sleeping man’s hair and for a moment, everything would feel perfect. It would be a fleeting moment where there wasn’t a clan, there wasn’t a war, and it was just the two of them wrapped around each other. Then he would lock that perfect moment away in the corner of his heart where he preserved his most precious memories, pull himself away from his best friend and steal away from the room. 

 

Only this morning after was different. The cracks in his perfect composure had spread over night between the sweet kisses and the moments of pleasure that had split him in two, and it caused him to hesitate. Shiro’s eyes softened as he looked down at Keith, who had let out a soft mewl of protest when he’d started to pull away. An internal war was waging between his heart and his mind, and he knew which one should win, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. A heavy sigh fell from his lips as another fissure formed, threatening the delicate balance in his heart that had already been so precarious itcould topple over at any second. He knew he needed to leave, it was just a matter of forcing himself to pull away from the cocoon of warmth. Pushing away from the bed, he pitched his legs over the edge and stood. Strong fingers circled his wrist, startling him as he swung around to see Keith staring up at him, eyes bright and alert. 

 

“You always sneak off,” his voice was rough with sleep and tinged with unsaid accusation. Keith’s violet eyes glared up at him from the bed, mostly angry about the fact he was awake. If his hair wasn’t twisted in casual disarray around his face, making him look younger, Shiro may have actually found Keith a bit daunting. A small laugh dropped from his lips as he made no move to pull his hand away.

 

“So you should be used to it by now,” he mimicked, using Keith’s words against him.The fingers around his wrist twitched as Keith hummed disapprovingly. In the early morning quiet, time seemed like an inconsequential concept as they held their wordless duel of steel and amethyst gazes. It would be so easy to for him to just crawl back into bed, and they both knew it. They also both knew that Shiro wouldn’t. 

 

In one last attempt to change his mind, the oyabun pulled Shiro’s hand towards his face and pressed his lips to the bruised knuckles. His eyelids fluttered at the soft pressure and a contented purr rumbling deep within his throat. He gently pulled his hand from Keith’s grasp before his best friend could deal a death blow to his self control.

 

“We’ve got a big day today.” He let his voice fall into a deep, authoritative tone that signaled the end of his perfect moment. Keith flopped back into the pillows in resignation, trying to mask the disappointment he felt as the truth filled statement slammed the door in the face of his morning. They’d been chasing down the Akuma’s human trafficking ring since they’d started the war between the two clans, but somehow always found themselves two steps behind. Even with Pidge tapped into their systems, as well as the police force’s, they still found themselves chasing down ghosts. Whispers of their rivals stealing away whole families from their territories were starting to grow louder, taunting Keith and his clan. They were challenging the Raoin, pushing further into their dominion with a mocking confidence that made the shadow of Keith’s father seem so much heavier and darker to live in. 

 

Rumblings of a new trafficking deal had made its way up the ranks of the Shinku no Raoin, and Pidge had finally tracked down intel that pointed them towards a wealthy industrial port owner. Keith had accompanied Shiro to go speak with the man themselves, and it had only taken a couple of missing teeth and the loss of two of his fingers to get the information that they needed. The deal was going down that night at his port in Toyohashi, and if things went as planned, it would be their largest deal to date. 

 

If everything went as Keith and his clan planned, it would be their biggest hit to the Murasaki no Akuma.

 

The rustling of clothes against skin pulled Keith back from his reverie as Shiro pulled his black button up across his scarred flesh. The distance he put between them seemed so much further than just the other side of the bedroom.

 

“You going to be okay today?” He asked, watching as his saiko-komon’s shoulders tensed at the question. It hadn’t been until years after the then six-year-old Shiro had showed up at the temple that he’d learned his best friend’s family had been victims to the Akuma’s racket. Shiro put up a strong front whenever they were dealing with the human trafficking ring, but Keith would still catch glimpses of the scared, rain soaked boy behind his steely eyed mask. A beat passed before he threw the oyabun a fake smile over his shoulder.

 

“I’ll be fine.” A slight waver in his voice said otherwise. _Are you trying to convince me or yourself?_ The question died in his throat as his best friend turned away from him again, effectively closing off conversation. Keith watched as he finished dressing in silence, grabbing his pistol off the wardrobe and tucking it into the waistband of his suit pants. The early morning light illuminated his profile, and peppered his hair with shimmering highlights. With his hardened gaze and the scars that wrote stories across his skin, he looked the way Keith imagined an avenging angel would. 

 

“I’ll see you at HQ,” He said, not bothering to turn back as he headed towards the door, all traces of the night they’d spent together before left in the room as he disappeared. 

 

As Shiro walked out, leaving Keith alone in the bed, he took his heart with him.

 

***

 

The weapon keep was one of Keith’s favorite places to be. Its walls shone with a futuristic metallic shine, lined with blades and guns of varying shapes and sizes from all around the world. A calming silence always accompanied the otherworldly glow of the room, and more often than not, the oyabun would find himself sitting on one of the metal tables in the middle of the room just so he could gather his ever twisting thoughts. They were meant to meet in the keep in about an hour before heading out to Toyohashi, but Keith sought out the solace of the room beforehand. He couldn’t quite push the concern for his saiko-kommon from his mind as the emotion continuously crested against his skull in waves out of his mind. Something low in his gut was setting his nerves on edge, and he couldn’t help but compare it to the feeling he’d had all those years on his birthday before the Akuma had struck. Trying to regain a proper hold on his racing thoughts, he tried to count the weaponry on the walls that surrounded him. It was a fruitless venture, as he would never be able to full count their never ending numbers, but he welcomed the monotonous rhythm that he fell into as he tapped his finger on the surface beneath him with each weapon he added to his mental inventory. 

 

Hunk had kept up their stock well, having taken over the reins as the clan’s arms specialist from his mother who had been the best the clan had known. The connections the Garrett family had ran deep within their history, dating back to the first World War, and earned them a well respected reputation amongst their crime filled underworld. To this day, no one quite understood how Hunk managed to get the weaponry he did, but they accepted it blindly. 

 

_There were many things they allowed themselves to accept blindly_. 

 

Keith growled to himself as the stray thought invaded his senses, causing him to lose count as his mind flickered back to the distant steel gaze that was plaguing his senses. 

 

“Gee, boss, you’re an early bird,” the snarking voice cut through the silence of the keep, effectively destroying the calm he’d been seeking. Lance let the door shut behind him with a click as he walked into the room. His waka gashira was dressed in his usual deep blue-grey shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms and tails tucked into his black suit pants. The tan leather of his shoulder holsters stood out against the color of the shirt as it stretched across his back, their pouches hanging on either side of his ribcage with his ever present twin uzis housed in them. Without the guns, Lance would have looked just like any other lanky 20-something, but Keith knew better. Though the loudmouthed clansmen made him want to punch things more often than not, he knew he was able to do more with any of the guns in their stock than anyone else. 

 

“Trying to find some peace of mind before some jackass ruins it.” There wasn’t any fire behind Keith’s words as he continued to stare at the weapon covered walls. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lance’s scandalized face before it fell into one of awe at the sight of one of the guns just to the left of Keith. Brushing past the sitting oyabun as if he’d already forgotten he was there, he stood in front of the gun.

 

Lance’s curious blue eyes traced the outline of the S&T Motiv K14 sniper rifle that lay before him. The sharpshooter’s hands twitched as he took in the solid lines of the gun, wanting nothing more than to get his hands on it. He was certain he couldn’t love anyone the way he loved the cool metallic feel of a rifle in his hands, and he’d heard things about the Motiv that he was certain would make his heart sing. Unaware of the violet eyes that watched from beside him, Lance leaned closer to the rifle. He made a mental note to ask Hunk how he managed to get his hands on such such a beauty when it was manufactured specifically for the South Korean Army, though honestly, he wasn’t even sure he cared. His mouth was practically salivating at the sight of it. With trembling hands, he reached lovingly towards the rifle that had been painted a velvety matte black. 

 

“Step away from the rifle, Lance.” The exasperated voice caused him to jump back from the gun. Spinning quickly on his heel, his hand clutched his heart dramatically. Hunk stood in the doorway, arms crossed over the goldenrod shirt that stretched across his broad chest as his chocolate gaze fixed upon Lance’s lanky frame. Keith’s amethyst gaze flickered between the two, unsure of if either of them even realized he still sat between them. It had always been this way with the pair, and even now, standing on opposite sides of the room, the leader could feel the electric tension that tied them both together. The way Hunk’s eyes softened into pools of warm, melted chocolate whenever he looked at Lance was something he knew all too well.

 

“You would keep me from my true love?” The sharpshooter cried dramatically, unable to stop the smile the tugged at the corners of his lips. 

 

“I was your true love just this morning. I suspect you don’t quite understand the term.” The arms specialist’s voice was filled with mirth as he made his way further into the room to stand beside Lance. Keith watched as Hunk threw an arm over his lover’s shoulder, and how the latter sunk into the space as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. They began to speak in their own language of inside jokes and rifle specs, the words lost on their leader as he tuned them out until their voices faded into a pleasant hum. He went back to counting the weaponry, feeling the tension in his shoulders dissipate with as the numbers grew higher. 

 

The next to arrive was Pidge, her nose buried so deep in the screen of the laptop that she had perched on her forearm that she didn’t even notice when she’d rammed her hip into the corned of Keith’s table. He didn’t like the way her eyebrows stitched together as the fingers of her other hand danced across the computer’s keyboard.

 

“What’s up, Pidge?” The sound of his voice startled her as she looked up with a small squeak. She quickly regained her composure, clearing her throat and pushing her oversized glasses back up the bridge of her nose. 

 

“Nothing’s up, that’s what’s weird.” The shake of her head caused her short, brown hair to shift lazily around her head. Her emerald shirt clad chest heaved as she sighed in frustration. “I’m just so used to those damn Akuma making a move, that I’m not sure what to think now that they aren’t.” The feeling was mutual. Hunk and Lance both turned their attention to Keith with the mention of their rival gang’s name. 

 

“Maybe they’re just getting complacent,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. There was no way to know for certain what they’d be walking into, the only concrete information they had being that from the businessman he and Shiro had spoken to, and even then there was no way of knowing if they hadn’t been played. Generally information from torture was reliable, if only because most human minds were weak to pain. And yet, that nagging feeling at the base of his skull continued to buzz. Pidge’s noncommittal hum was the only answer he got, and he wasn’t sure he could exactly blame her. 

 

It was a few minutes later before Shiro pushed his way into the room, his face completely blank of any emotion, except for the muscle in his jaw that occasionally jumped with the tension. He avoided the four curious gazes that washed over him as he went to the back of the room, leaning his back into the cool surface of one of the metal cases that housed various blades. Standing behind everyone else, Shiro looked more like a statue than a human as he kept his eyes trained on the ground. It took everything in Keith’s power to tear his eyes away from the silent Adonis. 

 

As if on cue, Pidge launched into the plans for taking down the trafficking deal the Akuma had prepared for that night. The five of them were going to head down to the port before nightfall, and they would split up in order to take them from every side. If their information was correct, there wouldn’t be more than 30 men spread throughout the docks, and most would either be patrolling in pairs or alone. She pulled up an overhead view of the industrial dock, pointing towards the center of the the shipping containers. 

 

“There is rumor of a brothel that the Akuma like to set up on the docks during these deals so buyers can test the product,” her voice turned venomous at the terminology she quoted. “Shiro, you’ll be taking care of this area.” The only acknowledgement she received was a swift bob of his head. Her hazel eyes darted towards Keith, a worried light shining in them. He nodded for her to continue, letting her know wordlessly that he was also watching the saiko-komon closely. Aside from Keith, the only other person that recognized the way Shiro folded in on himself during their efforts to stop the Akuma’s trafficking ring was Pidge. She’d seen the darkness that danced beneath the surface of his carefully composed mask. _Darkness recognizes darkness_ , she’d once said when she’d spoken with Keith about it. 

 

“Lance will be our eyes in the sky from the business tower just outside the port.” The sharpshooter preened as Pidge outlined his part of the plan. “Hunk and Keith will be on the perimeter, searching the grounds for the captured. I’ll be the point, as always.” Her computer screen flickered as she pulled a video screen up on the monitor. Grainy live footage from the dock came to life, showing a pair of men walking between a line of shipping containers. 

 

“I won’t be able to see everything, but they have plenty of CCTVs to give me a good enough idea of where everything and everyone is.” Pidge dug her hand into the pocket of her charcoal grey suit pants, pulling out a small plastic baggie filled with five ear pieces. “I’m giving you all separate lines to make it harder to compromise our comms. The only person you’ll be hearing from this time around is me.” Hunk snorted at the pointed nature of her ending words. During their last attempt to crash one of these deals, Lance had forgotten they weren’t on separate lines and taken it upon himself to whisper words of encouragement in Hunk’s ear. To this day, the waka gashira hadn’t been able to let them live it down.

 

“Thank god I’ll be able to escape Lance’s voice for a bit,” Keith growled as he tried to shake the memory away. 

 

“Oh don’t be like that,” Lance cooed as he threw an arm around Keith, noting the way his body stiffened at the contact and the way his silent saiko-komon’s gaze quickly flickered between them in the first sign of emotion to pass over his face since he’d arrived. Lance had seen how their friendly teasing and platonic hugs had turned into longing glances and lingering touches over time, and yet he wasn’t even sure they had realized it yet. There always seemed to be something between the two standing in the way. It was almost painful watching them dance around each other like moths dancing around an open flame, both enchanted by the light and yet aware that getting too close would get them burned. 

 

“Deep down in that black, angry heart of yours, you love me.” Stormy eyes flashed over them again as Keith elbowed at Lance’s side as he tried to pull away. “It’s just like how deep down in my heart, I love you.” 

 

“It doesn’t count as love if you have to love him under fear of excommunication from the clan,” Pidge piped up as she shut her laptop and hopped onto the table across from Keith. Lance stuck his tongue out at her as Hunk left his other side and took her place. With a quick motion, the oyabun wrenched his shoulders out from under the heavy arm that sat on them, his worried gaze returning to Shiro whose stoic mask was back in place. With the spotlight on him, Hunk started to dole out the weaponry that he’d gathered for them, highlighting the specifics of each piece as they’d taken their share. Each was handed a gun and a blade, their plan hinging on them maintaining the element of surprise. The blade would be their first method of attack, but the gun would get them out of any tight spots. Their last line of attack would be Lance with his sniper rifle that he was practically purring over. 

 

Keith’s fingers traced along the sharpened edges of one of the three matte black push daggers that Hunk had acquired for him. A droplet of blood welled up from the thin slice across the pad of his finger and lazily rolled downwards toward his knuckle. The deep crimson of the drying blood sent a shot of adrenaline through his veins. It was a color he was all too used to. A white slip of cloth was pressed into his hand, startling him slightly as he looked up to see Shiro holding the fabric over the small cut. His waka gashira were lost in their own conversation too busy hurling numbers and specifications at each other to notice the heaviness that passed between the both of them. Keith’s fingers twitched at the contact struggling to keep from capturing Shiro’s hand within his own to provide him an anchor before he lost himself to the sea of his emotions. 

 

“It’s okay if you want to sit this one out.” The worry rolled off of him in waves as his violet eyes pled with Shiro to let down his defenses long enough to let him in. His best friend pulled his hand away as if the contact burnt his skin, the movement sending a stab of pain that twisted in Keith’s heart. 

 

“I’ll be fine,” he echoed the statement from earlier as he turned away, leaving Keith alone on the table. 

 

As the door closed behind him, Keith couldn’t help but think of how it had been the second time that day that he’d wished he hadn’t let Shiro go.

 

***

 

The night air was laced with the smell of sea water and decay, a combination that had the ends of Shiro’s nerves ablaze. He stood a few paces into the industrial port, hidden in the shadows of a stack of shipping containers. His veins thrummed with adrenaline as he stared into the darkness of the dimly lit dock, trying to pick up any figures in the inky night. Apparitions of shadows played with his senses, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut to them in an attempt to regain his bearings. Shiro could feel phantom eyes watching his every move, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he thought it was Pidge keeping a watchful eye through the hacked CCTV feed, or some unseen force. The hair on the back of his neck stood as a seed of dread dug itself deep within his belly as he imagined faceless enemies stalking them, turning them from the hunters to the hunted. 

 

The frozen tendrils of anxiety that sought to destroy him with fear weren’t new to him. He had discovered over the years that several things conjured them into existence. The first time he’d smelled curry after he’d been brought to the clan, he couldn’t explain to Keith or the others why he couldn’t stop crying. The first time he’d seen a woman that wore her hair in a braid down her back, he couldn’t explain to Keith and the others why he couldn’t stop screaming for his mother.

 

The first time he saw the katana that had killed his father, he couldn’t explain to Keith or the others why he had flown into an unstoppable rage that had won him the scar across his face. 

 

Shiro had worked hard to try and keep his demons at bay, learning what dragged them from the dark abyss deep within his soul and doing his best to avoid them. When they did rear their ugly heads, he had found breathing techniques that could at least calm them for long enough for him to get some place safe. Sometimes though, they clawed their way to the surface without mercy, picking him apart from the inside out until he was cored with his nerves laid bare. He could feel them welling up within his gut, nipping at their cage as they fought against their constraints, ready to take their prey. A distant memory started to whisper along the edges of his conscience . 

 

“Shiro?” Pidge’s worried voice cut through the white noise. “Shiro, are you okay?” He tried to ground himself to her voice, grasping desperately at it as the chatter of the memory started to grow louder. The sound of ghosts and blood started to rush in his ears.

 

“Shi-” 

 

Suddenly he was six years old again, oversized sweater hanging from his small frame, and looking up at his mother as she smiled down at him. 

 

_“Mama,” his small voice said, wonder filling his tone at the vividness of the memory. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid that slipped down her back, a strip of grey standing out amongst the black. There was a kindness that radiated from her as if she was the sun. His mother carried an air about her that made her seem so much larger than the small room they were sitting in. Tucked in the back of their modest house in Hakone, they huddled together on his parents’ bed._

 

_“Shush now, baby,” she cooed as she ran a reassuring hand over his hair. “We have to be very quiet now, daddy is talking to someone very important.” Shiro didn’t understand what the man was doing, but he knew enough to be scared when the heavy handed knock interrupted their evening. His mother had quietly ushered him to their room, locking the door shut behind them and sitting him down on the bed with only one wish: That he remain as quiet as possible. The scent of her lavender perfume calmed him as she held him into her side. He turned his face into the soft fabric of her pink cardigan as he heard the voices in the living room start to get louder. A shout turned his world upside down, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and then nothing. His mother seized up next to him, arm tightening around him at the sound._

 

_“Mama?” The word was no louder than a whisper. Her honey colored eyes fixed on him as bulky steps started to make their way down the hall towards their door. She stood with a shot, pulling him up with her as she hurriedly yanked him towards the closet. With a sharp tug, the doors to the closet gave way, opening up for her to reveal a deep space filled with clothes. Those heavy steps drew ever closer._

 

_“Be quiet, baby, okay?” Her voice wavered as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Whatever happens, you have to be quiet, do you hear me Shiro?” The words were a hiss as her eyes pled with him. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth as he stared up at his mother, his grey eyes a stormy sea of fear. Without waiting for him to answer, she shoved him into the very back of the closet, letting the clothes fall across his body to hide him, and then tugged the doors closed. Shiro shoved the clothes aside and pressed his face to the crack at the entry, only able to see a fraction of the room on the other side._

 

_He watched as his mother crossed the room in two steps as the door of the room start to shake and groan under the stress of someone trying to knock it down. The window screeched loudly as she pushed it open, the curtains swirling and dancing around her with the sudden gust of wind from outside. The breeze carried the scent of the sea with it, and even Shiro could smell it from where he hid._

 

_“Run!” She cried loudly as the door finally gave way. A loud, splintering crash resounded through the room and he watched as his mother stood his ground. The light from the room was blocked out by a figure so large, Shiro could hardly make out all of it. All he could see was the katana it carried and the way it gleamed red in the light. Her eyes were the color of golden flames as she glared at the figure._

 

_“It’s just you then,” a man’s voice growled lowly. With the speed of a snake, his hand whipped out, the large appendage twisting into the hair at her scalp and pulling her away as she let out a cry. For a moment Shiro could swear he saw her look at the closet and shake her head. He didn’t know how long he stayed in the closet, terrified that if he left, he would make his mom mad. She’d said to be quiet._

 

_He had to be quiet._

 

_At some point he’d found his way to the ground, nestling his head into a sweater that had fallen from a hanger when his mother had pushed him into his hiding space. It wasn’t until the light of the room blinded him as the closet doors were wrenched open that he realized he’d been sobbing into the fabric. Before him stood a kind looking man, with hair that looked like fire. His eyes were impossibly sad as he took in the boy that was huddled on the ground with the tear soaked sweater._

 

_“It’s okay,” the stranger assured him as he reached forward to help him up. When Shiro made no move to try and get away, the man picked him up and held him to his chest with ease. “You’ll be safe now.” The statement sounded hopeful, but did nothing to stop the tears that continued to flow down his face. As the man carried him through the home, Shiro looked at the destruction that had occurred. The photos on the walls of the hallway were either knocked off kilter, or had fallen from the wall completely and lay on the ground with cracks in their frames. Sound still spilled from the television that they had been watching before the attackers had arrived. A chair in the dining room was knocked to the ground, and a sea of red painted the ground beneath it. It had taken a moment for him to realize that the crimson liquid had spilled from the body of his father. Crumpled on the ground next to the chair, his father didn’t even look like a person anymore with the way he’d fallen. His face was turned downwards into the pool of his blood. The sight clenched at Shiro’s heart, burning into the deep recesses of his mind._

 

_“Dad!” He’d cried, clawing at the man that was carrying from the house like a wild animal that had been captured._

 

_“Dad!” If only he could get to him. His childlike mind told him that his dad would be okay if he could just get to him. If only--_

 

“Shiro!” The shout was so loud that his eardrum ached with the sudden violence of it. He was dropped from the memory and back into the abandoned port in Toyohashi where he stood alone in the shadows. 

 

“I’m here, Pidge,” Shiro assured, his voice hoarse with long past cries for his family. The radio silence on the other end told him that she didn’t believe him. He didn’t give her the chance to push the subject. “Are we good to proceed?” Another beat of silence before he heard her sigh whisper through his earpiece.

 

“Yeah, we’re good to proceed. Lance has an eye on you all right now. As always, he’ll be the last line of attack so we don’t give away our positions early.” Shiro listened closely as he timed his breath with the cadence of her words. He knew the plan already, but hearing it again was calming the darkness in his veins. 

 

“Hunk has already taken the guys out that were in the lookout tower. It was pathetic, really. They only had three men positioned there,” she snorted at the Akuma’s misstep. 

 

“And Keith,” his name interrupted his meditative breathing as it caused his breath to hitch, “is already running along the dock taking out Akuma while searching for the shipping containers that they have the people in.” Shiro grunted an affirmation acknowledging what she’d said. Everything was going according to plan, which left him to investigate what was left of the shipping yard. If what they’d been told was correct, there would be more to save within the shipyard, hidden amongst the containers for the use of the Akuma. The line went momentarily dead before Pidge’s voice jumped back in.

 

“Lance says you better hurry, two men are headed your way at your three o’clock.” A beat as she took a breath. “Are you su-”

 

“I’m fine.” Shiro’s voice was filled with finality before he took the earpiece from his ear and shoved it deep within his pocket. Without a voice in his ear, the world around him was silent save for the water he could hear lapping against the concrete of the port and the low hum of whispered voices from the men that were headed his way. Taking a steadying breath, he pulled the tantō Hunk had supplied him with from the sheath on his hip and held it in his right hand. In his left, he grabbed his pistol, feeling the weight in his palm and letting the feel of the metal calm him. He crouched low, back pressed against the cool aluminum sheet of the container as he waited for the pair to pass him. They did so without noticing the steel glare that followed them, or the soft footfalls of his boots until he was already on top of them. 

 

A small cry escaped the lips of the man on the left as Shiro pounded the butt of his gun into the side of his temple, the whites of his eyes shining as he crumpled to the ground. His partner clawed at the holster on his hip to grab his pistol, already too late as their assailant spun around quickly, dragging the blade in his right hand clean across his throat. Blood fell from the gaping cut, exposing muscle and veins as he fell beside his clansman. Shiro continued in the direction that the men had been heading, aware of the faint squawks of protest from the earpiece in his pocket. He would hear it from Pidge later, that he was sure of, but for now he couldn’t have another voice in his head when so many were already there, threatening his sanity. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone dash between two shipping containers. Adjusting his grip on his knife, he slunk towards the corner of the second container as he listened. Underneath the symphony of waves and hushed singing of the breeze, he could hear tentative steps and silenced breathing approaching. With his own steadied breath, Shiro stepped out in front of the Akuma as he reached the corner of the container. His breath left him as the face of the man in front of him melded with that of his father momentarily. The brief pause gave the man the upper hand as he lashed out to grab Shiro’s wrist that held the tantō. His grip was strong, and for a second he thought he could feel the bones in his wrist grinding together with the pressure. Regaining his composure, Shiro spun like a dancer beneath his arm, the position putting the other man off balance just long enough for him to wrench his wrist free. He brought the knife down into the man’s back, hearing the sickening sound of bone against the steel blade. The image of his father’s body flashed across his mind’s eye as he pulled the blade free.

 

“I’m fine,” he said to no one as he wiped sweat from his brow only to smear a line of blood in its place. He continued on his path, killing members of the Murasaki no Akuma as swiftly and quietly as he could until he rounded the corner of a long line of shipping containers to find the makeshift brothel.

 

Construction lights were strung up in a line across the tops of spaces that were only walled by hanging dingy sheets. A cacophony of broken sobs, wails and moans echoed through the expanse of cubicles. The sounds reverberated off the metal that surrounded them, amplifying them to a near deafeaning pitch. The sharp tang of body odor rose from the temporary rooms, causing Shiro’s stomach to turn. He counted sixteen setups in total that lay in a long line between the metal storage units, and began his descent on them as soon as the bile in his throat settled.

 

The first couple of sheeted cubicles held nothing but paper thin mattresses colored with yellowing body fluids and the rusty color of old, dried blood. As he stood in the makeshift hallway of hanging sheets that served as partitions between the rooms that housed drugged men and women, a strong wind blew through. One of the sheets danced upwards to the sky, revealing a woman with long black hair, wide barren eyes, and the ghostly blue tinged pallor of a body that no longer housed any life. The breath caught in Shiro’s throat as the sheet fluttered back down into place. The woman had worn his mother’s face. Blood rushed in his ears, shutting out any other sounds around him as he reached for the dingy fabric. Clutching the sheet in his hand, he threw it to the side to get a better look at the body. The resemblance was striking, but the woman that laid abandoned on the dirt and fluid stained mattress wasn’t his mother. His stomach turned with the bittersweet and sickening relief that coursed through his veins as he muttered a prayer over the woman he didn’t know, before he ran a hand over her eyes to close them. 

 

He continued his examination of each room, saying prayers for those that they hadn’t been able to get to in time. Many wore the wide eyed expression of the first, and of those, most showed the faint signs of drug overdose as they laid besides a puddle of frothy vomit. By the time he’d checked each area, he’d only found five still alive. With some coaxing, and hushed promises that he was there to help, he was finally able to lure the three women and two men out from behind the prison of stained sheets. Their eyes fixed on no point in particular as they stared with a blank, drugged gaze. It was a slow, steady pace as Shiro led them away from the brothel and towards the exit. As he settled them down onto the curb just outside of the port, he heard the protests from the earpiece grow louder. Sighing loudly, he stood back from the victims he’d rescued and pulled the piece from his pocket. 

 

“I’m here, Pidge,” he said as he pushed it into his ear, bracing himself for the worst.

 

“Behind-” Shiro was already turning on his heel, reaching for his pistol before she could get the warning out. The attacker behind him was already falling over by the time he faced him, the small T-shaped handle of a push dagger sticking out from between the vertebrae at the base of his neck. Keith’s eyes practically glowed in the night, his posture more feral than usual as he stalked towards the fallen man. Blood ran in rivulets down the curb, flowing just passed the victims that sat there. If they noticed the gore that was running besides them, they made no move to acknowledge it. 

 

Keith pulled the small dagger from the neck of the man, wiping the blood on it along the body’s shirt before returning it to it’s sheath on his thigh with the other, one of the slots left empty from an earlier fight. His questioning gaze froze Shiro as he fixed his eyes on the blood streaked across his brow. As if he was approaching a wild animal, Keith reached up slowly, eyes trained on his saiko-komon as his fingers brushed against the stained skin to show nothing but unmarred skin beneath it. 

 

“Are you okay?” He breathed, pulling his hand away and still looking over Shiro as if he was a time bomb. It wasn’t until that moment that he noticed the weight that had been pressed into his chest and along his back, suffocating him of air. Now that his best friend stood in front of him, he felt burden of the memories that plagued him begin to crumple the careful facade he’d constructed.

 

“Did you find them?” Shiro countered, hearing the hitch of his own words, but not acknowledging them. Outwardly he fretted about everyone else, inwardly he scrambled to pick up the pieces. 

 

“We did. Three containers of people prepped to be shipped like they’re nothing more than bags of meat.” Keith’s voice was harsh as he dragged a hand through his hair. 

 

“There must have been about 200 people in those units, Shiro. But we got them.” A rueful, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The oyabun’s violet eyes flickered back up to his best friend’s face as he stepped closer. 

 

“They’re going to be okay, Shiro.” Keith’s voice was soft and knowing. Shiro captured the true meaning behind the statement. _You’re going to be okay_. It wasn’t until Keith was in his space that he realized his cheeks were wet with tears. The pieces of his mask were starting to come undone and he couldn’t hold them together anymore. Shiro let Keith pull him into his embrace in an attempt to keep the fragments of himself from falling apart.

 

***

Blood was running in rivulets down his arm that hung limply at his side. The dagger had lodged itself deep within his arm, and the searing pain was almost unbearable as he’d made his way to the rendezvous point. His attacker had left him in a rush, not bothering to finish what he had started after knocking him to the ground. The Akuma took the opportunity to run, bloody and beaten, but not yet dead, a mistake he hoped he would make the Raoin pay for. Darkness was eating away at the edges of his vision when he finally stumbled his way into the small, nondescript and unmarked entrance tucked in a darkened alley just 15 minutes away from the port. Silence befell the room as the door slammed behind him. It wasn’t much of a room, long forgotten by anyone looking to upkeep it. The walls were stained with water marks from leaks in the ceiling, and the stale scent of mold clung to the air. Nothing permanent was meant for the shabby room, and there was a stark contrast between its downtrodden looks and the suits of the two men that stood within it. 

 

Zarkon was a fearsome man, larger than most with a bloodthirsty glare and a hunger for death. His face was nothing but strong lines and cut edges, giving him a near alien look, and his severe mouth was downturned at the interruption of the bleeding peon that dared barge into his space. The skin of his knuckles tightened across the bone as he clutched the handle of the katana that hung at his side. 

 

“Sir,” the wounded man’s voice was laced with pain and exhaustion as he fell to the ground in a halfhearted bow. The second man, Sendak, peered down his nose at him with disdain. 

 

“Speak, kobun.” The title was spit like an insult. The Murasaki no Akuma leader didn’t believe in learning the names of his followers, seeing them as nothing but bodies made to be broken for his bidding. There were very few clansmen that lived long enough to grow in rank and earn their moniker. Without names, Zarkon didn’t have to worry about what to put on their gravestones. A shudder of fear raced down the unnamed man’s spine as he felt the hot, hateful twin glares burning into his back. Black spots started to eat away at his vision as he kept his eyes downward, aware of the pool of red that was starting to gather from the wound in his arm.

 

“The Shinku no Raoin,” he gasped, clinging desperately to his consciousness. “They stopped... the deal...” Deep shuddering gasps of despair and pain breaking up his words. A chill was starting to settle deep within the bones of his wounded arm, and started to spill over the rest of his body. There was a low, angry snarl of disapproval from the daunting oyabun that he knelt before. Culling up what was left of his energy, he lifted his headed just in time to see the flash of the blade that came down through his back. 

 

The blood from the fatal wound plinked in light droplets into the pool that had already gathered at the man’s knees. It sunk into the dingy carpeting, staining deep into the floor, and spread towards the shiny black leather of his killer’s shoes.

 

“I have no use for useless, damaged things,” Zarkon growled as he pulled the katana from the dead man’s body. It landed with a wet thud on the blood soaked carpet, his lifeless eyes already glazing over as they stared into an infinite nothing. The oyabun pulled a purple pocket square from the pocket of his charcoal grey suit jacket and wiped the blood away with a look of disgust before he let it fall on top of the murdered clansmen. The sword clicked into place as he returned it to its sheath, freshly cleaned of any proof as to what had just taken place. His dark eyes burned with rage as he turned towards the hulking man to his right. He wore his black hair closely shaved, and the starched, obsidian suit he wore only gave his olive skin a more sinister look. The lid of his right eye was closed to cover the empty space where his eye had once been, long gone after having been ripped out during an altercation with their rival’s saiko-komon. The smile that stretched across the his mouth as he stared down at the body in the middle of the room was a cruel thing, filled with a darkness befitting of a killer. 

 

“Sendak,” Zarkon’s voice was smooth as velvet and dangerous as sin. “I think it’s time we do something about our little lion.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAALL CHECK OUT THE AMAZING COMMISSION FROM PRINCE FOR ITTB! I'm seriously so in love, he captured exactly what I wanted and couldn't be any happier :) Not to mention, he was a dream to work with. Go give him some love!
> 
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	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual notes on this chapter: Make it sappy and sweet cuz you’re about to ruin everyone’s lives. 
> 
> So uh.... good luck I guess.
> 
> Also please note I'll be out of town 9/14-9/18. I would really like to get another update up before I leave however please note this may be the last update until the week of 9/18.

_"Psst, Shiro," Keith hissed at the dark pile of blankets, his small voice carrying through the silence that befell the temple only in the middle of the night once everyone had gone to sleep. Moonlight splashed the floor of Shiro’s room with its cool light, giving the six-year-old Keith just enough illumination to see the way the lump on the bed stirred ever so slightly. He crept closer to the sleeping boy hidden beneath the comforters and called his name again, raising his voice a little. A small hum of acknowledgement accompanied the rustling beneath the covers as they were pulled down just far enough to reveal the tuft of Shiro’s white bangs and his tired steel eyes. The only thing Keith could decipher from the string of mumbles aimed at him was his own name, causing him to laugh as he reached out to gently tug on the feather white hair that lay across his friend’s forehead. He held the sleepy gaze that stared through him with a malice reserved solely for someone that had just disturbed a particularly good dream._

 

_It was moments like these that Keith felt as if he was dealing with a wounded animal more so than a saddened boy his own age. Though Shiro had accepted the clan he’d been brought to four months ago when he’d arrived at the temple with Coran, he had kept to himself, only speaking when spoken to and often opting to sit alone. That didn’t mean that Keith didn’t try. Over time the orphaned boy stopped walking away when Keith sat down next to him to talk. Though he still never fully let him in, it was enough for the oyabun’s son to start piecing together information about his newfound friend. It hadn’t escaped Keith’s keen perception that loud noises would make the boy jump, causing him to shrink away from everything around him much like a flower curling in on itself after being blocked from the sun. After that particular discovery, Keith started inviting Shiro to play with him in the meeting room. He wasn’t sure if the latter ever noticed that the room was hidden deep within the temple with walls thick enough to block out any outside sound, but he always agreed to accompany him, which was good enough for Keith._

 

_Shiro also shrunk away from most contact, a discovery which he had made when Daiki had gone to grab the boy’s hand to pull him out of the way of a group of rowdy kobun. The yell that had ripped from his throat had shocked not only Daiki but also Keith, who had been holding onto his father’s other hand, and the group of men, who all had stopped to stare at the child that had just torn his hand free of their leader’s grasp. His father gave Shiro space after that, always keeping a watchful eye on him, but never raising his voice or reaching out to touch him again. Only Keith had managed to make full contact with him, something that the child prided himself on. Sometimes a sound or a smell would catch Shiro off guard, causing him to seize up as his eyes would grow vacant and he’d regress into a deep pool within himself. During those times the only one able to pull him back to the surface was Keith, who would throw his arms around him and hold him close._

 

_Though time passed, the same sadness that had plagued his grey eyes when he’d arrived still clung to his dusty orbs, and no matter what Keith had tried up to this point, that sadness hung from him. If didn’t take much to see that Shiro was a little bit broken, and had given up on being whole again. Luckily for him, Keith was never one to give up easily._

 

_“I didn’t catch any of that, Takashi.” It pleased him when he saw the steel of his friend’s glare soften as he used his first name. The covers lowered further to reveal the rest of his face._

 

_“I said, why can’t you sleep like a normal person, Keith,” his voice was scratchy with sleep and mocking, though there was no heat behind it._

 

_“Because I’m not a normal person, duh.” As he said it, he crossed his eyes and scrunched up his nose in an attempt to make a silly face that would prove his point. The chuckle it earned made him beam down at Shiro. He loved making his friend laugh._

 

_“Why are you up?” Shiro asked as he pushed his way to a seated position and rubbed a fist against his eyes. His hair stuck up in all directions as if it was doing an impression of a hedgehog._

 

_“I wanna show you something!” Keith had been planning a surprise for him for awhile now. It was time to get rid of that sadness that clung to Shiro like his shadow._

 

_“And it couldn’t wait until we were up?” The question was accompanied by a yawn._

 

_“We’re both up now, aren’t we?” If his father had been there, this would be when he called him a little smartass. Before Shiro could answer, Keith held out his hand. “C’mon, I promise it’s worth it.” A moment stretched impossibly long between them as his friend contemplated the offer. Keith held his breath as he waited, not wanting to break the moment with any sudden movements that might push him towards declining his offer. The warmth of Shiro’s hand spread across his palm as he grabbed it, allowing himself to be pulled from the bed. A small smile tugged the corner of Keith’s mouth upward as he led them both out of the room and down the hall. The only sound in the temple was the quiet sound of their feet padding across the wooden floor as they walked through the halls guided by nothing but the pale moonlight through the windows._

 

_It wasn’t long before they made their way to the door that led them to an exit into the clearing next to the temple. Though Shiro made a small, confused noise as they left the safety of the temple and stepped upon the cool grass that was slick with dew, he didn’t say anything as Keith pulled him to a ladder that was propped against the temple wall. The latter climbed up first, offering his hand again once he was at the top to help pull his friend up onto the roof. Shiro saw the smile the spread across Keith’s face as he plopped down onto the roof tile and pointed upwards to the sky._

 

_“Look,” was all he said. Taking a seat next to him, close enough for their arms to brush, Shiro obliged his friend and was barely able to hold back the gasp that threatened the silence of the rooftop. Millions of stars dotted the inky night sky in an unending array of swirling constellations and shimmering light. The sparkling luminescence reached as far as he could see, leaving no point above them untouched by beautiful white light._

 

_“My dad brings me up here sometimes, especially when I miss mom.” Keith’s voice pulled his attention from the sky above them and Shiro fixed his gaze upon his friend. The starlight painted his skin a milky white as he continued to stare up at the sky, not turning to him as he continued to speak. Keith hardly ever brought up his mom, and when he did it was almost always in passing. It’s not like I ever knew her, he’d once said before changing the subject._

 

_“It’s silly to miss someone you never knew, huh?” He said, violet eyes reflecting the sky above him as if they were filled with the same stars. “Dad says that some people find starlight to be a lonely kind of light. Empty and cold,” he dropped his voice to imitate his father’s, making Shiro laugh again._

 

_“But he told me that stars are made from the love we leave behind when we die, so they can’t be cold and empty at all.” Squinting his eyes, Keith reached a hand upward towards the sky as if he could touch it. “So whenever you feel sad, he said you only have to look up at the stars and you’ll see all the love that has ever been felt in the world. You can’t be sad knowing all that love exists, right?” It was such a simple explanation of the light that dotted the night sky, one that Shiro knew wasn’t true. His own mother had taught him about space and how stars were spheres of plasma millions of miles away that were held together by their own gravity. Yet, as he turned his attention back to the flickering lights above them, he felt something in his chest move and click into place. He hadn’t noticed the tear that had slipped from his eye until he felt the soft brush of Keith’s hand as he wiped it away. Neither said anything as Shiro continued to cry, the weight on his chest slowly disappearing with each fallen tear. At some point, he’d found himself resting against Keith’s side with his head on his shoulder, the fabric of his friend’s pajama shirt wet with his tears beneath his cheek._

 

_They sat that way in silence as his tears dried, looking up at the night sky until the inky blackness started to color with purples and reds as the sun started to rise, chasing the stars away. As the sun’s rays peeked over the trees of the forest surrounding the temple, the light blinded them..._

 

And then Keith woke up.

 

The memory washed away like a tide returning to sea as he was pulled from his slumber by the sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. His skin prickled with wakefulness as he tried to recall the feeling of the heat pressed into his side, painfully aware of the lack of warmth in the sheets next to him. The space next to him was yet again empty, as it had been each day in the week since they’d stopped the Akuma from making their trafficking deal. Shiro hadn’t been well when he’d found him outside the port with the victims he’d rescued from the brothel. It was all too apparent to Keith when he’d seen the strange, vacant light that had touched the grey orbs of his best friend’s eyes. He’d known that his saiko komon hadn’t been himself beforehand, yet he’d allowed him to go into the raid and now the hollowness in his eyes haunted him. In a moment of panic as he’d taken in the emptiness of Shiro’s gaze, Keith had done the one thing he’d always known to work when they were kids, and pulled him into his embrace. He repeated a small prayer in the back of his mind as he’d looked up at the night sky, calling upon the stars to keep his best friend whole. It was the last time he’d been able to reach Shiro since.

 

After they’d returned back to Kabukichō, the oyabun, his saiko komon and his waka gashira all planned for the retaliation that they knew would be inevitable, but Shiro had thrown himself further into the work than any of them. Either unaware of the worried glances from his friends, or uncaring of them, he’d spent all his time preparing the kobun for any attacks that may come at them. He fell deep into his role as decoy leader, giving out the orders Keith had made for the clansmen to post guards at every business under their protection for 24-hour surveillance. They didn’t bat an eye as he commanded that no one in the clan was to leave the temple or their headquarters without some type of weapon to protect themselves, and that if possible they were to travel in groups of two or more. Whenever Keith tried to speak with him about anything other than the clan, he somehow managed to turn the conversation back to the Raion, smoothly closing off any opportunity for his best friend to question what exactly was wrong. As each day passed while they waited for the Murasaki no Akuma’s revenge, Shiro buried himself further within his work. Keith almost wished they’d just attack so his saiko komon had nothing left to hide behind. The sharp pain of his on treacherous thought twisted low in his gut.

 

An annoyed huff exploded from Keith’s chest as he punched a fist into the bed next to him. He felt like a child again, trying to coax an orphaned boy into trusting him enough to let him in. When he was younger, he’d been more patient, having not yet truly felt the weight of the bond that kept them anchored together. Things had been simpler then. Now all he could feel was the deep yearning that housed itself deep within his bones, causing him to constantly ache for his best friend who was both right in his grasp and miles away from him all at once. Keith curled his fingers into the sheets that covered the unoccupied side of the bed, holding onto it as if it would somehow help him get a grip on the feelings that were spiraling like a whirlpool within his chest. 

 

He remained in his bed for another half hour, his purple glare picking apart the cracks in the ceiling as his thoughts circled around Shiro, the Akuma and back again. Later that day they were both meant to travel to Okazaki, a town just on the outskirts of their territory, to meet with a small shopkeeper looking for protection from their rivals. It would be the first time in the past week that Shiro would be forced to listen to Keith, whether he liked it or not, and he was going to take full advantage of it. A determined fire danced in his eyes and his face set in a driven scowl as he pushed himself off the bed to start getting ready. While many things had changed since they were kids, one thing remained the same.

 

He still wasn’t one to give up too easily.

 

***

 

The landscape that passed outside the car blurred by in a never ending stretch of emerald greens, dusky grays and crystalline blues. Heat from the sun beat down upon them through the windshield, warming their skin, but doing nothing for the icy cold distance that sat between them. Shiro kept his eyes towards the road, trying desperately to ignore the pointed stare from his companion in the passenger seat. One of the first things he’d learned about Keith when they were younger was that he was headstrong. Though he’d shut everyone else out, Keith wouldn’t take no for an answer and had made it his personal mission to break through his barriers. Not much had changed, except this wasn’t something he couldn’t help Shiro with. The pain of seeing the ghosts of his parents etched across the faces of the now deceased had unearthed the small piece of him that he’d thought he had a grasp on. Whenever he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but see the lifeless bodies of the man and woman that had worn his parents’ faces, and it was tearing him apart. And no one could help him with that, least of all Keith who was singlehandedly tearing apart the walls he’d put up around his heart. So he kept his eyes forward on the road, focusing on everything except the amethyst gaze that was cutting its way through his defenses. He’d made it through a week keeping the distance carefully crafted between them, he was sure he could make it through a day trip to Okazaki.

 

“So are you going to tell me what’s been wrong?” Shiro wasn’t shocked by the question. It had taken the better part of an hour before Keith finally broke his silence, which had given him the time to prepare for it. 

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he offered with a smile that faltered and never reached his eyes. For a moment Keith wondered if Shiro was even really trying anymore. The oyabun huffed a sigh as he pushed himself further up his seat to make himself look taller. 

 

“Then I guess that means you want me to tell you what’s been wrong.” Keith’s voice had taken on an authoritative edge, and if Shiro hadn’t known any better, he could have sworn he was suddenly driving with Daiki in the car. If it were a different time and a different place, he may have even laughed at the comparison. He had never thought he’d see the day Keith would turn into his father. A crack ran up the armor that separated Keith from the emotions that were broiling underneath Shiro’s skin.

 

“You’ve been avoiding everyone--” Shiro heard the emphasis on the word that really mean _me_ “--since we stopped the Akuma. No one has been able to pull your head out of clan work all week, and we’re worried about you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Keith throw his arms across his chest. 

 

“I just want to make sure everyone is safe for when they strike.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, yet for some reason the words rung false, even to his own ears. He could feel the demons that had been causing him nightmares starting to push their way through the crack that only widened with the look the lie had earned.

 

“You’re acting a lot like when Coran brought you home that night,” Keith pressed, eyeing him as if he could feel how close he was to getting what he wanted out of him. The words stuck in Shiro’s throat as they bubbled up in an attempt to choke him. He set his jaw and kept his eyes fixated on the blacktop of the road as he struggled to push down the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him.

 

“C’mon, Takashi,” Keith breathed, his voice wrapping around his first name as if it was a secret. The sound of it on his tongue was his favorite melody and always sent a thrill down his spine. “Talk to me.” 

 

It was the way his voice cracked that dealt the final blow to the dam that had been holding everything back and the words started to slip from his mouth before he could stop himself.  


“I’m broken, Keith,” he growled as his hands tightened over the steering wheel. The skin of his knuckles turned a ghastly white with the strain of being pulled so tightly over the bone. The oyabun noted the faint yellow edges of the bruises he’d had on his knuckles from just a week ago. 

 

“I know you know I am. At that dock, I saw them. My parents,” his words continued to trickle out in a heated rush. “I saw them everywhere. And it made me useless. It made me weak. If it hadn’t been for you--” he paused as he took a breath and glanced sideways at Keith. “If it wasn’t for you, that Akuma would have killed me. And for a moment, when you’d stopped him, I thought I hated you. Which is crazy, because I could never hate you. But nothing made sense, and their ghosts were taunting me and I just wanted it to end.” A beat of silence while he caught his breath.

 

“Whenever I think I’m okay, my fucked up head proves me wrong.” Even to his own ears, Shiro’s voice sounded pained. “I’m just tired of being broken, Keith. I’m so tired of not being able to try and stop the Akuma without reliving my own personal hell.” 

 

Time stood still as they both waited, letting the weight of Shiro’s words hang in the air. What felt like hours was only a few moments before Keith spoke.

 

“You aren’t broken, Shiro,” he said, his voice soft and full of reassurance. “Feeling doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It’s what makes you human.” 

 

Shiro saw out of the corner of his eye as Keith reached out as if to place a hand against his arm. Hefaltered in his movement before he settled for placing his arm on the console between them. 

 

“You can’t forget your family, and you shouldn’t want to. Their memory is what will push you, and when you start to feel like you’re broken again because of it, I’ll carry you.” 

 

It sounded more like a promise than anything, and Shiro felt his heart swell. He removed his right hand from the steering wheel and found Keith’s hand, placing his hand on top of it and interlacing their fingers together wordlessly. Silence filled the car again as the words they’d said dissipated into nothingness, taking the suffocating weight on his chest with it. 

 

Suddenly the absence of sound didn’t feel charged with pointed distance, but the familiar comfort he’d always felt when he was with Keith. He kept his eyes on the road, but squeezed the warm fingers between his own with a soft pressure, hoping that his best friend would pick up on the _thank you_ he was trying to convey. In return, Keith’s thumb brushed lightly against his pinky, the soft touch sending tiny shocks through his body. _You’re welcome_. The warmth of the sun brushed their skin as they continued the drive, not saying anything as there was nothing left to be said. Neither made a move to separate their hands, both trying their best to keep the moment alive for as long as they could. Once they made it to their destination, they would need to return to the world they knew. The one that had no room for love to survive.

 

“Do you ever think about what our lives would be like if this wasn’t it?” Keith’s voice was thoughtful as he broke the silence. 

 

What ifs weren’t something Shiro liked to think about, knowing that those two words together created one of the most dangerous statements in any language. He did sometimes wonder though how his life would be different if the Akuma hadn’t taken his family from him, or if it hadn’t been the Raion that had found him.

 

“I wonder if I would have even met you,” he said finally, a vulnerable honesty coloring his words. 

 

A moment stretched between them as Shiro waited for a response, unsure if he’d even get one. 

 

“I think I’d find you, no matter the life.” 

 

It was barely above a whisper, yet the admission moved his entire being. Shiro looked over and saw the light that caressed Keith’s face, tossing small refracted rainbows from the windshield across his profile. His heart stuttered at the way the colors danced across the bridge of his nose and cast shadows from his eyelashes across his cheeks. For a moment, he was certain he forgot how to breathe. The oyabun kept his eyes forward as if he hadn’t said anything at all, waiting for Shiro to say something back. 

 

“Sometimes I think about how if this wasn’t it, we’d be able to travel the world together.” He decided to play along, casting his gaze back to the road ahead of them. 

 

The heat of the back of Keith’s hand burned in his palm as they maintained the contact. A town and buildings started to crop up ahead of them as their destination drew closer.

 

“We wouldn’t have anything or anyone tying us down to one spot,” Keith sighed, his thumb squeezing Shiro’s pinkie softly as he leant his other arm against the passenger door and dropped his cheek onto his hand. He snuck a sideways glance at Shiro, admiring the square of his jaw as he thought about what he’d add to the scenario.

 

“Except we’d have a dog.” Shiro’s smile stretched wide at the idea and his best friend was certain if he’d gotten the head on effect of the smile, it would have blinded him.

 

“We’d have a dog,” Keith agreed with a mischievous laugh. “And you’d name it something stupid like Dee-oh-gee.” 

 

Shiro pulled his hand away from Keith’s momentarily to grasp at his heart dramatically. 

 

“You have wounded me!” He cried, unable to stop himself from looking over at his companion, who smiled widely at his mock pain. After turning at a light, he returned his hand back to its place atop Keith’s.

 

“Don’t act like it isn’t true,” he laughed fondly and Shiro marveled at the sound. It was a laugh Keith used for him and him alone.

 

“We would find a house somewhere else, with plenty of land.” The town around him fell away as the image took shape in his mind. Wherever they were, there would be backroads for them to race motorcycles on, and plenty of grassy areas for them to play fetch with their dog. 

 

“We could live by the ocean and watch the sun rise and set each day.” Keith’s voice lowered as he found himself lost in his own daydream where they sat in the sand in each other’s arms with nothing else there besides the tide. He imagined the exact shades of orange and pink that would paint the sky as the sun set as Shiro parked the car in front of a small store that stood alone on the edge of the town. The car shuddered to a stop as he switched it off. 

 

“We could be each other’s family,” Shiro said hesitantly, not daring to take his gaze off the store front ahead of them. It felt like he was playing a dangerous game, dancing around the one thing he knew he couldn’t possibly say. 

 

“We’re already each other’s family.” 

 

His heart squeezed at Keith’s words. Something clicked within his chest as he realized his words to be true. Keith and the clan had been his family longer than his own family had been before they’d been ripped away from him. Whenever he thought of home, he didn’t think of the small house in Hakone, but the bright smile of his leader. Home wasn’t with the two parents that haunted him, but with the boy that had welcomed him with open arms and tried his damnedest to knock down every wall he’d surrounded himself with. Home was Keith’s eyes that watched him with a tenderness he wouldn’t have thought he deserved. 

 

In the violet of those eyes, Shiro could swear he could see full galaxies floating within their never ending depths. Twinkling stars and swirling nebulas danced across the velvet amethyst. A blanket of electrically charged silence filled the space between them as he found himself lost amongst the planets and moons in his eyes. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be found. 

 

“Keith, I-” The words stuck in his throat. It would be so easy for Shiro to shatter the thin sheet of glass that stood between their two desires. The very air that filled the space between them was thick with it. All he had to say was those three words. 

 

_I love you_. 

 

It would be so easy. 

 

_Your love will only make him weak._

 

His grey eyes searched Keith’s purple ones, trying to convey everything he couldn’t-- and wouldn’t-- say out loud. He watched as the clan leader started to lean in towards him, eyes flickering between Shiro’s gaze and the fullness of his parted lips. Shiro found himself leaning into the same space to meet him in the middle. Their noses brushed andhe felt Keith’s shallow breath flutter across his bottom lip. Pupils that were blown wide with desire swallowed his violet irises before his eyelids fluttered shut as their lips pressed together. It was a chaste kiss. Nothing but the simple touching of their lips, but it ran straight through Shiro’s body and down to the tips of his toes. He gasped into it, and Keith took it as an invitation to press further into the kiss. His tongue swept along the back of his teeth, encouraging a soft mewl from his mouth. Shiro’s hands found their way into the soft locks of the hair at the nape of Keith’s neck. Tangling his fingers in it, he returned the advance, sucking Keith’s bottom lip into his mouth and biting down softly. A growl filled the space between them as the oyabun’s hand fisted within the fabric of Shiro’s shirt. Laughing into the kiss, the Shiro pulled back slightly and smiled down at his best friend before he pressed their foreheads together. Their breath came out ragged as they just rested against each other, Shiro’s fingers still knotted in the strands of his hair and Keith’s fingers still gripping his shirt. The latter returned the smile, opening his mouth to say something.

 

_Tap, tap._

 

The sharp sound of knuckles against glass caused them to jump apart as if they’d both been shocked. An older man in a faded blue button up and tan khakis stood outside the passenger side window and smiled at them as he pointed at them and mouthed a single word.

 

_Raion_.

 

Shiro’s heart raced within his chest as he let out an embarrassed chuckle before nodding at the man they were set to meet with. A small mumble tickled the back of Keith’s throat as he motioned the man to move back so he could climb out of the car. With one fluid motion, he stepped outside of their safe haven and back into their loveless underworld. 

 

Shiro followed suit and exited the car, grinning widely at the older man in order to offset the scowl that Keith had fixed him with. While he kept his pistol tucked out of sight, Keith proudly wore his dagger holster on his thigh, making him look a lot more threatening than a meeting warranted. It was no wonder the owner’s eyes had flickered over him with a look of panic.

 

“Hello Mr. Yukimara,” he said, slipping casually into the voice he reserved strictly for business in hopes it would ease some of the man’s nerves. Offering a strong hand as Keith stepped to his side, slipping into the facade as Shiro’s righthand man, Shiro looked every part leader of the Shinku no Raion. It stirred leftover feelings from the car deep within Keith’s gut as he watched Shiro grace the business owner with his smile. 

 

_Of all the fucking timing_ , he thought to himself as he followed the chatting duo into the store, only vaguely aware of the fact that the owner hadn’t acknowledged him at all. Keith couldn’t help the hungry gaze that dragged down the line of Shiro’s body as he walked ahead of him, exchanging pleasantries with Mr. Yukimara. He also noticed the small patch of sweat that had bloomed between the business owner’s shoulder blades that stained his worn blue shirt a slightly darker shade despite the coolness of the air.

 

“This is a nice store you have, Mr. Yukimara,” Shiro’s voice carried through the empty furniture store. The store owner fidgeted awkwardly at the compliment, scratching the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. Shiro’s grey eyes flickered towards the undercover oyabun, raising an eyebrow slightly. He picked up the implication of the look. 

 

_Something’s up_.

 

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d met with a business owner that was openly antsy about meeting with yakuza. Even though their intentions were good, there was still an underlying intimidation that rolled off of them. Keith couldn’t say he blamed the older gentleman if he was a bit worried about speaking with them, especially given how close to Akuma territory they were. Everyone in the underground knew by now the war that waged between the two clans. With a quick, barely perceptible shake of his head, he brushed off Shiro’s look. The exchange took all of a few seconds, and the stand in oyabun turned his attention back to Yukimara before he even noticed he’d lost it. 

 

“-- has been in my family for generations. We’re furniture folk,” the owner was saying by the time either of them clued back into what he was saying. His dark eyes flickered all around the store, looking at anything other than the two Raion that stood with him.

 

“And we’d love to help you keep it in your family.” Shiro’s voice was assuring as he tried to push the feeling of anxiety to the back of his mind. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a chill dragged goosebumps down his skin. A small click on the other end of the store snapped his head to attention as his eyes sought the source of the sound.

 

“The air conditioning,” the store owner laughed nervously again, his cheeks flushing with color. “It’s a system that likes to make noise. I hardly even notice anymore, and you can never tell when people are actually here.” It was a perfectly good explanation, and yet Shiro couldn’t help but feel it was too convenient of an explanation. Another shared glance with Keith and another quick shake of his head was the only thing that assuaged the growing feeling of distrust that was blooming in his chest. 

 

“Of course,” he offered with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“Let us sit and speak,” Yukimara said, ushering them towards a dining table at the middle of the store. As he turned away from the oyabun and his saiko komon, neither saw the drop of sweat the rolled down his temple or the way his eyes darted between the office and emergency exit situated at the back of the building. 

 

Keith continued to trail the two men, keeping an eye on them both, picking up the anxious ticks they both exhibited as they walked further into the store. His own suspicion was starting to rise bitterly in the back of his throat as he scanned the store for anything out of place. Shiro took a seat at the front of the table, his back facing towards the the side of the store that housed the the register. Yukimara took a seat on the opposite end, back towards the end of the store that housed the office. 

 

It wasn’t until Keith took his seat to the right of Shiro that a cold drop of sweat dropped down the back of his neck. A sixth sense clawed angrily at the inside of his head, screaming at him that something was wrong, and if urged by a ghost, looked towards the register. 

 

Set high on the wall behind the desk was a curious knife. The blade was curved and caught the glean of the florescent lighting in the warehouse in a sinister manner. The hilt had a purple eye etched into it that stared over their party. It was the mark of a clan’s protection, or in this case, the mark of a clan’s ownership. 

 

Shiro only had a moment to react to the the way Keith’s eyes hardened at the symbol. He knew exactly what that look meant. Suddenly the warehouse looked less like a store and more like the trap it was intended to be. The chair he’d sat on knocked back with the force he stood with, a growl erupting from his throat as the banging sound of the office and exit doors behind Yukimara exploded open. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” the man whispered as he cast his eyes down to the table. A single shot split open the quiet, deafening them both as they watched the bullet catch the business owner in the throat. A river of gore rushed down the front of his shirt and onto the table he still sat at. His wide eyes stared ahead in shock as his mouth slackened before he fell face first onto the wooden surface with a sickening thud. Without a word, Shiro grabbed at Keith’s bicep and pulled him down beneath the table for coverage as he pulled his pistol from his waistband. The latter already had his daggers in his hands and a fire in his eyes that burned everything around him. A snarl twisted his features as they heard footsteps approaching. 

 

Fear gripped Shiro’s heart as he glanced through the legs of the furniture, quickly counting about 30 Akuma coming towards them. Even for them, it would be a struggle to fight so many back. His blood rushed through his veins as he tried to come up with the quickest plan of attack that would protect Keith long enough for him to get out.

 

“I’ll take the right,” Keith spat, his knuckles white with the force of his grasp on his blades. Shiro’s hand gripped tighter on his arm, pulling his attention to him.

 

“We can’t lose another oyabun.” His voice cracked under the weight of what he really meant. 

 

_I can’t lose you_. 

 

Uncertainty flashed across Keith’s violet eyes as he searched Shiro’s face. Though it must have only been a second, that second stretched impossibly long between them. He saw the moment Keith made his decision as his jaw set and the amethyst flames returned, burning brighter than before. 

 

“I won’t back down,” he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. A sharp pain lurched through Shiro’s chest. “I’ll see you on the other side.” Then he was gone, launching himself off the ground and at the Akuma that stood at the end of the mahogany table. Shiro heard the sickening scrape of the metal against bone before he pushed himself off the ground toward the other end of the table as he took aim and shot at the first person that came into his line of sight. 

 

_See you on the other side_. He grabbed the pistol that skittered across the floor towards him as his victim fell to the ground before unloading another round into the leg of the Akuma that had been behind the last. A scream tore from the clansmen’s mouth as crimson rained from the wound. The pistol in the wounded man’s hand trembled as he tried to aim at Shiro, his reaction time just a hair too slow as he was blown back by the saiko komon’s next shot. 

 

Chaos had descended upon the store, stray bullets spraying chunks of wood and stuffing from furniture across the scene. The sound of gunfire ricocheted of the metallic walls of the warehouse building, deafening them as they continued their attack. Picking up another gun, Shiro aimed for an Akuma that was lining up his shot at Keith’s back, pulling the trigger and painting the the couch behind him with a spray of blood and brain. The oyabun returned the favor, whirling towards where his Shiro stood and letting a dagger fly from his fingers. He heard the solid sound of the metal embedding itself into flesh just to the right of him and turned in time to see the body hit the ground.

 

They continued their barrage, and one-by-one their assailants fell. The garnet stain of blood touched everything around them, and was sprayed across their skin as they fought. For a moment, Shiro thought they’d actually had an upper hand on the situation, but it was the kind of fleeting feeling that caused one to falter and lose their grasp on the situation.

 

Almost as soon as he’d thought it, an explosive pain tore through his leg as he was hit with a well aimed shot. His knees buckled beneath him as the searing heat shot through every nerve in his body. A cry echoed through the store, and it wouldn’t be until much later that he’d realize it was his own. 

 

“Shiro!” Keith’s voice cut through the pain, pulling his grey stare towards him as he fell onto his knees. Three Akuma took advantage of the opening they’d been granted and grabbed at the oyabun, forcing him back onto a bed. The glint of a gun sparked from across the room as one pressed the barrel of his pistol to Keith’s forehead as the others held him down. Keith snarled at the men, pushing against their holds and the gun that was pressed to his head. Bile rose in Shiro’s throat as he went to reach for his own weapon before it was kicked out of his grasp. Fingers gripped his hair tightly before the Akuma snapped his head back sharply so he was looking up at him.

 

“You did put up quite a fight, didn’t you.” The man’s voice was laced with equal parts poison and honey as he stared down at Shiro. Ragged breaths rattled in his lungs as he glared up at the man clutching his hair. 

 

“But I guess I didn’t expect anything less from the oyabun of the Shinku no Raion,” he growled. Shiro’s scalp screamed as the grip tightened, tearing strands along with it. 

 

“What do we do with this one, Haxus?” One of the men holding Keith asked. Haxus snapped his captive’s head forward so he was looking at the scene ahead of him as he knelt besides him. Hot breath tickled his ear and he leant in close.

 

“What should we do with your saiko komon? It’s your call, oyabun.” The whisper caressed the shell of his ear, the threat worming its way into his veins. The double meaning was clear. _We can kill him if you don’t cooperate_. Two more men walked over to where Haxus was holding him, but as they grabbed at Shiro’s arms, all he could see was the dangerous way the light danced in Keith’s eyes. It was the look he got when he was about to do something incredibly reckless. His wound throbbed, sending pain through his body and numbing his senses. He was losing blood quickly, and his head was starting to spin.

 

“Leave him,” he rasped, not pulling against the hands that held him in place. Pleading filled his eyes as he tried to will Keith to not push against his captors. Purple flitted towards him. It was the only motion he needed to know he wasn’t going to listen. 

 

Legs kicked out towards the Akuma with the gun, Keith’s foot burying itself deep into his stomach with a solid sound as he twisted harshly beneath the grasp of the other two. They both yelled at the commotion, and Shiro saw as his best friend wrestled one arm free. Keith clawed at the grasp on his arm, throwing all his power into his knee as he pushed it up into the man’s arm. The sharp crack of tendons echoed through the room. 

 

As he’d gone for the last Akuma, Shiro watched in horror as the one with the gun regained his composure. 

 

“Keith!” He cried, throwing his weight forward. The grips on him only tightened as another shock of pain rocked up through his leg from the pressure he’d applied to it. The Akuma knocked the butt of the gun into the back of Keith’s skull, and Shiro saw as it came away red. As if he was a marionette cut from his strings, Keith fell forward and landed on the ground at his attacker’s feet. The latter dropped down beside him, jabbing his knee into his back to hold him down and fired a warning shot just to the right of his head. 

 

“Well that’s too bad,” Haxus tsked as he watched the scene in front of him. With a quick snap of his fingers, he motioned another set of Akuma towards where Keith now lay on the ground. Anger clawed at Shiro’s throat as he watched them descend upon him, the one that had held him to the ground standing as they all took turns kicking at his still body. The sound of their boots meeting Keith’s skin nearly made him sick. White hot rage burned his insides as he threw himself forward again, the pain in his leg forgotten as he took Haxus by surprise and ripped from his hold.

 

“I’ll kill you!” His voice was near demonic as he lashed out against the Akuma still holding him. Ramming his shoulder into the hip of one, he used the force to push him forward and into Haxus before he reached for the gun on the hip of the others. As his fingers closed on the grip, a heavy weight fell over the top of his head. White starbursts danced over his vision, blinding him momentarily. He felt the hands on him again before he saw them. When his sight returned, it was filled with Haxus’ face as he stood before him. His voice was angry as he placed his hand below Shiro’s chin in order to force him to look up at him.

 

“The only reason you are not going to die here is because we are under strict orders to bring you back to Zarkon,” he spat, flecks of spit speckling Shiro’s face with warm spittle. “You are his, little lion.” Haxus turned his attention away from him to address the men that held him in place. Everything around him spun as he tried to pull against their holds, his strength failing him.

 

“Take him.”

 

Haxus walked out of his line of sight, no longer obscuring his view of Keith, who now alone where he lay unmoving on the ground. The two Akuma started to pull him backwards towards the exit of the store. Destruction had laid waste to the furniture store, pieces of wood and fabric strewn across the floor amongst the bits of gore and pools of blood. Bodies littered the ground, but there was only one he could see.

 

Shiro struggled against the strong hands that dragged him across the the floor. The world around him was stained with a veil of red as blood ran into his eyes. Animalistic grunts of pain exploded from his chest as the sight of Keith’s limp body sprawled across the floor burnt itself in his mind. He prayed for any sign of movement from his best friend as the vice like grips on his arms tightened, pushing their nails deep into the muscle for purchase. 

 

“Please,” he breathe, willing every ounce of strength he had left into the plea as if the single word alone would breathe life into the motionless body on the ground. Blackness crept along the edges of his consciousness as bits and pieces of their car ride flickered in disjointed fragments through his mind.

 

_“We’d have a dog, and you’d name it something stupid like Dee-oh-gee.”_

 

_Keith’s fond laugh, the one he used for Shiro and Shiro alone._

 

_“We could live by the ocean and watch the sun rise and set each day.”_

 

_The light that caressed Keith’s face, tossing small refracted rainbows from the windshield across his profile._

 

“Keith.” His name rolled from his lips like a prayer fused with the pain of a love he couldn’t have, and that he couldn’t protect. “Please.” 

 

Keith’s unmoving body was the last thing Shiro saw before everything around him went black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in BTS, sneak peeks and just ramblings while I write, follow my writing Twitter @ODMwrites
> 
> YAAAAALL CHECK OUT THE AMAZING COMMISSION FROM PRINCE FOR ITTB! I'm seriously so in love, he captured exactly what I wanted and couldn't be any happier :) Not to mention, he was a dream to work with. Go give him some love!
> 
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	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this your torture warning! Things get dark and twisty here. It couldn't be helped, y'all had to know it was coming after where we left things off lol
> 
> Please also excuse any things that may not be accurate, I uh, am not well versed in writing torture scenes.
> 
> Reminder on helpful terms:
> 
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.

Shiro’s consciousness crested on him like inky black waves of ice cold ocean. The freezing tendrils of darkness weighed him down, holding him below the surface and numbing his senses, and just out of his reach glowed the muted grey light of the outside world. A low, rumbling pressure of far off voices pressed against his ear drums and he struggled to grapple onto the sounds. If he could just anchor himself to something, maybe he could pull himself out of the frigid pool that was suffocating him. His lungs ached as they struggled against the oppressive weight on his chest, and his bones cried out against the fingers of frost that were wiggling deep into his marrow.

_Shiro._

His name echoed through the darkness wrapped in heated tenderness. A soundless whine burned deep in his throat as he tried to find the voice. 

_You always sneak off._

The smooth glide of fingers across his forehead, smoothing his forelock back from his brow, sent a shock through his veins that beat back the ice. His lips tried to form the name of the man he so desperately wanted to see. A phantom touch of lips on his temple pulled him closer to the surface as heat pulsated through the contact. The dim light grew brighter against the black backdrop of his conscious. It felt as if _he_ was everywhere and nowhere all at once, dragging Shiro out of himself, like he always did. He struggled to say his name again, lips stumbling on the monosyllabic word that filled him with a warm bubble of hope. There was a strong grip on his wrists that towed him closer still to the light.

_C’mon, Takashi._

Shiro’s eyes fluttered, letting in grey murky light in quick flashing intervals that left spots of light dancing in his vision. The first thing to hit him was the heavy, metallic scent of blood that clung to the air. His stomach rolled as the sickly smell invaded his senses, bile rising dangerously in the back of his throat. Cold metal bit into his wrists as he attempted to raise his hands to his mouth. His vision began to clear of the bursts that had blinded him, revealing a darkened warehouse room. A solitary window high on the wall illuminated the space with dusty sunlight that gave the metal table just to his right a sinister gleam. The source of the stomach turning scent was painted before him in the form of the bright garish red of blood spilled across the floor.

Haxus’ body lay in the crimson sea, eyes upturned in silent horror and a smile carved into his throat. A stooped figure was beside him with his back turned to Shiro. Even without facing him, he knew who the hunched figure belonged to. A shiver of fear tickled his skin in the form of an icy drop of sweat that rolled down his temple.

When Shiro had last seen Sendak, he was nothing more than a thug exercising excessive force on one of the shopkeepers in Yanaka. It had been just after Keith had taken over, and the Raion were still standing on the shaky legs of their newborn leadership that they heard of the man threatening the shop so close to their home. Whether he went as a show of dominance, or a way to exert the pent up rage he’d held within him following the attack from the Akuma, Shiro was still unsure. That night he’d gone and waited for the then unnamed man with his pistol, his tantō, and a thirst for blood that nearly choked him. It was how what would normally have been a pedestrian show of force and possibly a fist fight ended with Sendak mutilated and clinging to life. Nearly a year passed before the whispers of a new Akuma climbing the ranks made it back to the Raion. Tales of the so-called One Eyed Demon were always tinged with the crimson of the blood he spilled and the blackness of the promise he’d made to return the favor to the Raion’s saiko-komon.

Shiro often regretted that day, but now as he watched Sendak spit on the face of the corpse beside him he couldn’t help the small seed of fear that buried itself deep in his gut.

“It’s pathetic he couldn’t follow simple instruction and bring us the one thing we asked for,” Sendak’s voice was thick with muted rage, though towards the dead man on the floor or towards the living one in the chair, it was unclear. He slowly stood from where he’d crouched, eye passing over Shiro coldly as he turned toward the metal table. Sendak drummed his fingers over the surface as he stared thoughtfully at the array of tools that laid across it. Shiro struggled futilely against the cuffs that linked him to the chair bolted to the ground as he heard a voice answer from behind him. The seed of dread bloomed within his stomach as fingers gripped the back of his neck.

“In a way, this may be so much better.” Zarkon’s voice was a deep bass sound akin to rolling thunder. Shiro bit back a cry as his fingers sunk deeper into his skin and pulled his head back so he was looking up at his captor. His dark eyes seemed like endless pools of melted obsidian as they glared down at him. It was the same stare he remembered from all those years ago at the temple and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling against his grasp, which only pushed him to tighten his hold. Everything began to spin as the blood flow was restricted by Zarkon’s grip. “Isn’t that right, Shiro?” 

With a jolt, his head was thrust forward again. Sendak’s black eye was settled on him with a wicked smile on his face as he started to walk towards him with a hammer clutched in his grasp.

There was a sickening crunch of bone beneath metal before Shiro’s screams tore through the room.

*******

The first time Keith came to, he was still in the furniture store surrounded by debris and coagulating gore. As he tried to push through the murky bog of his mind to connect the chain of events that had landed him there, he was vaguely aware of Hunk and Lance as they came barging into the store with their guns readied. The loud, distinct bark of Hunk’s voice shouting his name was the last thing his senses latched onto before he had been resubmerged within the inky quagmire of his conscious. 

The second time he’d come to, he found himself tucked safely within the sheets of his bed. Feather pillows loomed around him in a protective embrace and he felt the familiar scratch of bandaging wrapped tightly around his chest and middle. His brain felt thick as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls and a distant memory danced on the outskirts of his mind just out of his reach. Try as he might to catch the fleeting memory, it flitted through his grasp, taunting him for getting so close and yet being so, so far. He let out a frustrated sigh and was immediately met with a sharp stabbing pain in his ribs.

Staccato clicks of a keyboard cut through the din of his pain as he noticed Pidge sitting at his bedside for the first time. Her legs were tucked beneath her and her laptop was balanced on her thighs as she tapped away, her eyes never leaving the illuminated screen reflected in her glasses. Ruffled brown hair stuck up around her head in a crown of casual disarray and bruise like bags stained the skin beneath her red tinged eyes. He recognized the expression that pulled the corners of her mouth down as one reserved for those in mourning and felt a quick stab of pain ripple across his chest.

“Pidge?” His voice was thick with the gravel of disuse. The sound of her typing paused just long enough for him to tell she’d heard him before it picked back up again in double time. When Pidge was truly worried about something, she had a tendency to type quicker. It had once been something Shiro had pointed out as a joke, noting that she never typed like that when she was supposedly worried about any of the clansmen, which meant she must have never truly worried about them. 

_Why would I worry? You guys are trained killers and gangsters_ , she’d said with a shrug of her shoulder and a quick flick of her tongue between her teeth. Now the sound of her keyboard bled together into a constant hum as the keys were pressed impossibly quick. Her eyes never left the screen and her mouth turned down ever so slightly further. A burning hollowness started to fill his chest as the memory that was evading him tiptoed closer. 

“Pidge?” He said again after attempting to clear his voice of the grit and sleep. “Pidge, where’s Shiro?” 

Keith couldn’t remember a time he’d awoken bandaged up without Shiro being there by his bedside. Even when they’d both found themselves in bad shape, he’d always managed to make it to his side. The room seemed hopelessly empty without him filling up the space beside him and fixing him with a disapproving glare that almost always kicked off a speech about how Keith needed to be more careful. Pidge’s eyes flickered up to meet his, her typing faltering once more before picking back up their pace. The burning emptiness continued to eat away at the space within his chest, making it harder to breathe. 

“How are you feeling?” Her voice was strained as she sidestepped the question, raising alarm bells in his mind. With a labored grunt, Keith tried to push himself up further from where he lay in the mound of pillows. The cushioning was suddenly stifling and he was certain if he didn’t push his way out, he would surely suffocate within it. As he struggled against the mounting feeling, the memory danced within his reach and he latched onto it as if it were a life preserve. The entirety of the trip to Okazaki rained down upon him in a painful crash of hail and dreadful realizations.

_We can’t lose another oyabun._

_I’ll see you on the other side._

His heart began to crash against the inside of his pained ribcage as the onslaught continued.

_Gun shots and blood._

_The pained expression on Shiro’s face as he was held down._

_Bright light before everything else went black._

Keith had been beaten, he’d been stabbed and he’d been shot, yet none of that compared to the pain that erupted within his chest as the memory faded away leaving him alone in his bedroom with the realization that Shiro had been taken. The emptiness of his chest throbbed like the pain of a shin splint. It was settled so deep within himself that he wasn’t sure where he ended and the earth moving hurt began. Heartbreak was its own kind of pain entirely, and in that moment he felt as if he were feeling every heartbreak across a thousand lifetimes as his being yearned for the one person that wasn’t there. A ripping sensation erupted in the middle of his chest, separating his sternum with a shock of wet heat, and it was a moment before he realized it was caused by a sob. 

“Where is Shiro?” He asked again, his voice cutting angrily through the tears he refused to acknowledge. Pidge’s sigh weighed a thousand pounds against his shoulders as she finally stopped typing and carefully closed the laptop. Her hazel eyes were filled with the golden fire of determination as she fixed them on him. 

“We don’t know.” 

Those three words sent Keith into a tail spin. Like a crashing plane, everything sputtered and tumbled around him in a kaleidoscope of broken glass and smoke. Her words droned on as she explained how the Raion police contact in Okazaki had reached out to the clan about possible gunfire in the area. The words slipped into the cracks between the wreckage of his thoughts as he attempted to make sense of them. 

“By the time Lance and Hunk got there,” she paused as she took a steadying breath and pushed her glasses further up her nose. “It was just you. No one else there was alive. They searched for him amongst the bodies but he was already gone, Keith.” 

His breathing sped up as he picked through the pieces of rubble that were burying themselves deep within his skull. 

_Gone_. 

There was something so final about the four letter word. Shiro, his Shiro, was gone. No longer present, or departed. Not many that were gone in their world came back, and those that did hardly ever did whole. 

“All we know for certain is that the Akuma have him.” The contact of Pidge’s small hand over his startled him. Looking up to meet her stare, he saw the tears that threatened to spill over. When she’d first come to the Shinku no Raion, Shiro had taken her in under his wing, seeing himself in the hollowness of her eyes. Though Pidge quickly became an integral part of the clan and had opened up to the rest of their misfit family, she’d always gravitated to Shiro when she needed someone to share her darkness with. Without him, she was untethered and lost at sea. It seemed her and Keith were together in the same boat.

“We’re going to get him back,” he said, his voice heavy with the promise as he squeezed her fingers within his own. The wreckage had settled, and in its place sat the cold calm of rage. It simmered in his veins and oozed into the open wounds that were laid bare in his chest. They would get Shiro back, and he would make them pay.

***

Keith was pouring over the maps of the known Akuma territory, his mouth twisted in a thoughtful grimace at the ache in his ribs from the bruises and broken bone that laid beneath the bandages under his shirt. His entire being felt as if it was pressing against the inside of his skin, trying to escape the confines of his flesh and his insides throbbed with his worry. So much precious time had been wasted on him as the Raion had waited for him to fully awaken from the near coma he’d found himself in after their run in with the Akuma. A low growl rumbled deep within his chest as he wiped a hand across his eyes in an attempt to push away the tiredness he had no right to deserve. It had been three days, and he hadn’t allowed himself to sleep since. Keith’s eyes continued to dance across the maps as if he could pull the secret of Shiro’s location straight from the dried ink on the pages. 

His raw nerves had long since pushed his waka gashira away, leaving him alone with his messy thoughts. 

_We’re doing our best, Keith, but right now we’re chasing down ghosts_ , Lance had yelled after he’d returned with Hunk from a long night of prowling known Akuma docks only to receive a hardened glare for their efforts. 

_You can’t risk the rest of the clan for one person. Shiro would understand that._

In hindsight, Lance was right. If Shiro was the leader, he would know that one man was not worth the many he had out risking their lives to search Akuma hideouts. But Shiro wasn’t the leader, and he wasn’t there to be Keith’s good conscience. He also wasn’t there to stop Keith from punching Lance in the face. 

He opened and closed his hand thoughtfully, rubbing his other hand against his knuckles that still prickled from the contact they’d made with Lance’s jaw.

The sniper’s blue eyes had been filled with a mix of betrayal and sadness as he glared at his oyabun, launching forward in retaliation before Hunk wrapped his solid arms around his waist to stall his assault. 

_We’ll get back out there_ , Hunk had said, eyes downcast and refusing to meet Keith’s. _I know you’re angry, Keith, but this isn’t our fault._ With a cold look from Lance as he squared his jaw, they both walked out of the meeting room he’d locked himself in and didn’t return. Any communication from them came through Pidge, who had fixed Keith with her own cold silence after a particularly aggressive argument regarding her hacking skills.

Alone with himself there was nothing to push away the look in Shiro’s eyes as he had been held down just on the other side of the store from him. His grey orbs had been filled with pleading, wanting nothing more than for Keith to just cooperate long enough for them to regain the upper hand. The Akuma thought Shiro was the true oyabun, and maybe if he’d just listened, they would have left him conscious and maybe he could have done something to save him. The fact of the situation burned in his throat and he choked on it any time he tried to reveal his truth. 

Lance was right about more than one thing. This wasn’t their fault. It was his. Keith was responsible for Shiro being taken, and now he may never come home. His rage filled cry ripped the silence of the room in two as he threw his fist into the metal tabletop. The rush of electric pain spread across the knuckles and down through his wrist. He pulled the pain up further into his skin, holding onto the sharp sting that reverberated in his bones if only to feel something other than the pain of the bleeding hole in his chest. 

The door to the meeting room squeaked as someone opened it. Keith’s shoulders tensed against the sound as he turned his head slightly away to hide his grimace from the person that had entered his space. Teeth grazing his lower lip, and eyes downcast, he saw a quick glimpse of Pidge in his peripherals as she dropped another folder onto the table next to him without a word. Her steps were soft against the carpet of the room as she turned on her heel and headed back towards the door. The silence was deafening between the both of them and it only made the ache in his chest deepen. Nails cut into the flesh of his palm as he tightened his fist, ready to find another surface to unleash his rage upon until his skin was left bloodied and torn.

A worried cough pulled him from his thoughts.

“Maybe you should get some rest.” Pidge’s voice was guarded as he heard her return to the space beside him. “I can take over for a bit.”

“Pidge,” his voice was a warning as she reached for the map in his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she paused, judging if she should still attempt to take it from him and if it would be worth the impending fight. She sighed in defeat and dropped her hand back to her side and leaned a hip into the table.

“Come on, Keith.” The way she spoke reminded him of how he once saw Daiki speak to a wild dog that he and Shiro had once found outside of the temple. It had been shaking and snarling, drool foaming around its jowls at it snapped at anyone that dared come close. The realization that he was the dog and not Daiki in this situation burned his already frazzled nerves. 

“You won’t help him like this.”Silence hung between them as they let the statement settle in the air. With an angry huff, the oyabun pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut to block out the world around him. Maybe the blackness of the inside of his eyelids would swallow him whole.

“Every hour that passes just means a higher chance he’s dead!” Keith’s voice broke under the weight of his sleep deprivation and despair. With his head still turned towards the ceiling and his eyes closed, he felt her fingers ghost over his as she grabbed the map from his hands and gently eased it from his grasp. 

“I know,” she said with a low shush. “But he’d want you to take care of yourself too.” His answering chuckle was colored with bitterness as he finally looked at her. Pidge’s tawny eyebrows were stitched together with concern, but he didn’t miss the matching dark circles they shared. 

“You’re one to talk,” he said without any real accusation. She sighed again before she wrapped wrapped her arms gently around his waist as to not disturb the bandaging underneath and pulled him into a hug as if her small frame could keep him from falling apart. 

“I don’t run a Yakuza clan though.” Her response was muffled in his shirt as he ruffled her hair quickly before returning the embrace. They stood together in silence, each trying to suck the pain from the other while simultaneously searching for their own salvation in the halos of their arms.

The moment of weakness passed as a strong knock echoed against the wood of the door. Pushing away from her, Keith pulled on his steely mask as all his emotions settled back into place as he turned towards the trespasser. A woman in a police uniform stood in the doorway, her crystalline eyes scanning over the duo as they pointedly stared back at her. Though she looked to be in her mid-twenties, her hair shone a bright silver in the fluorescent lighting of the room. He couldn’t help but think that it looked like starlight as it glowed around her face and fell down her shoulders.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” her voice was thick with politeness and a foreign accent. “I’ve heard of the loss of your oyabun.” If she noticed the way his shoulders tensed at the title, or the way Pidge’s eyes quickly flitted towards him and away again, she didn’t let on. Remaining where she stood-- whether as a sign of respect or fear, Keith wasn’t sure-- she continued.

“My name is Allura.” Her name was well known within the Shinku no Raion. Allura had become a phantom member of the clan, feeding them information from inside the police force whenever she caught wind of any Murasaki no Akuma activity. Hunk had made the contact and therefore kept up communications with the officer but Keith and his waka gashira had grown accustomed to hearing that intel had come from her. He felt himself relax ever so slightly at her introduction.

“I’m Keith,” was all he offered, not moving to close the distance between them. 

“Pidge.” Her voice was curt as she kept up her defenses. Gold met aquamarine in a show of dominance before Allura broke the eye contact. A small triumphant smile tugged the corner’s of Pidge’s mouth upward as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Hunk said I would find you here,” Allura said, fixing her gaze on Keith instead.

“And what do we owe the pleasure?” He let his voice fall into an authoritative tone, brushing aside the way it reminded him of how Shiro would speak when acting as the oyabun. It made him feel like an imposter in his own role as he tried to fill the shoes of the man that served him.

“I brought someone that may be of worth to you in your search.” As she spoke she pushed away from the door to reveal a figure on the ground behind her that had been propped against the wall. The body’s head lulled to the side, his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle with his ear pressed to his shoulder and his eyes were shut. If it hadn’t been for the handcuffs and the angry red welt across one of his cheekbones, Keith would have thought he’d fallen asleep in the hallway. Familiarity dug its fingers into his skin as he looked at the man. Black hair fell over his forehead and his mouth was turned downwards in a frown that had haunted him for the past three days. The searing heat of bitter rage burned his insides as he recalled the way that same man had pressed the barrel of his gun to his forehead. 

“His name is Prorok. I can’t tell you much more than that and the fact he’s an Akuma. I didn’t want to call in anything to look up his information so I wouldn’t need to take him in.” Allura’s disdainful gaze fell on the unconscious man as she paused as if considering whether to divulge anything else. 

“He was wondering around Yanaka, which leads me to believe he may be useful to you.”

Keith wasn’t aware of the low growl that had escaped him until he felt Pidge’s questioning gaze tickling his skin. He felt his fingers twitch at his side, grasping for the daggers that normally sat on his thigh. His mind filled with the many different ways he would have carved them into his skin. 

“Why are you helping us?” Pidge asked, snapping his twisted thoughts and pulling him back to reality. Her arms were still folded over her chest as she eyed Prorok. 

“The Shinku no Raion saved my father when my own job could not. We are indebted to you,” Allura’s voice was small at the admission. A beat passed between the three of them and the only sound was the deep breathing of the unconscious Akuma.

“You owe us nothing,” Keith finally said, stepping forward and offering his hand to her. She took it gently, her sky filled eyes welling with tears at the gesture. With a quick squeeze of her hand, she pulled away and turned to leave. 

“Tell Hunk we’ll be speaking soon,” she called over her shoulder. Her words fell on deaf ears as Keith glared down at the man on the ground. Amethyst fire blazed deep within his eyes, burning holes into his flesh. His anger rolled off of his skin in waves and caused the hair on Pidge’s arms to stand on end. In all the years she’d known Keith, she’d never once felt scared in his presence. Now, as she looked at the way his face twisted into a feral snarl at the sight of the Akuma, she felt the innate need to run. It was the first time she truly believed him to be a killer.

Without a word, Keith grabbed the metal that linked Prorok’s handcuffs and began to drag him further into the building. As she stood alone in the hallway with the silence weighing down upon her, she felt the icy fingers of worry run a trail down her spine.

***

Artificial light from the bright fluorescents overhead burned Prorok’s retinas as he slowly opened his eyes. At best, he’d hoped he’d have found himself on the cold hard ground of a police cell, and at worst he’d imagined he’d have ended up in the Akuma warehouse where they take the useless and the failed. What he hadn’t planned for was to find himself in the middle of what looked like a boardroom. Something about the mundaneness of the room felt infinitely worse to the other options. Rough rope bit into his bare chest as he struggled against the constraints that held him to the metal chair. 

“You’re finally awake.” The cold voice reverberated off the walls and tiled floor around him. Soft footsteps followed as his captor walked from behind him, not looking up from the dagger he twirled quickly around in his fingers in a blur of black metal against white skin. Mauve flickered towards him from beneath the curtain of onyx bangs that brushed over his nose and in his eyes. The last time Prorok had seen those eyes, he’d had the weapon and the immobilized enemy. Now with the roles reversed and the steel that turned the liquid pools of purple into hard amethyst, he felt the distinct bite of fear. 

Prorok had thought Zarkon would be the worst thing that would have happened to him. When they’d returned with the man they thought to be the oyabun of the Raion, they’d been met with the wrath of their own leader and Sendak. Before his eyes he saw as they demonstrated what happens to those that fail the Akuma and it had been enough for him to gravel for a chance to right Haxus’ wrongs. He conveniently left out the part where he’d had the true oyabun in his grasp and he’d left him battered and unconscious at the furniture store like a bleeding gift for their rivals. Zarkon’s smile was a jackal’s grin as he handed Prorok a box with explicit instructions to leave it on the footstep of the Raion temple. Something about the way he’d given the order sounded as if he didn’t expect the Akuma to return home alive, and as he watched the Raion leader begin to unbutton his shirt, he wondered if Zarkon had known all along.

The crimson shirt fell from Keith’s shoulders with a whisper, revealing the stark white of bandages that held him together. Prorok kept his eyes trained on the tight fabric that ran across the muscle of his back to avoid meeting the gaze of the Raion oyabun. Carefully folding the fabric, Keith set it on the table, next to the line of varying knives, hammers and tools. 

“Can’t get blood on my shirt, you know.” His voice was pure ice and void of any emotion. That voice was the voice of a man that had everything taken from him, and now had nothing to lose. When they’d moved on the Shinku no Raion, they’d thought they were dealing the clan a killing blow. It was as Keith’s fingers danced across the cold, gleaming steel of the array of tools on the table, that he’d realized they’d only given the clan the drive they needed to be monsters. Settling for the black dagger he’d originally held, he turned back to Prorok with an inhuman scowl. Despair gripped his lungs, forcing the air from them as Keith stepped forward until Prorok’s vision was filled with the white, black and purple fury that the oyabun exuded. 

“You’re going to tell me where Shiro is.” It was a statement, not a question. His captor dropped down on his haunches so that he knelt before him. The ropes chaffed his skin as he pulled against them again as if he could somehow get away from the near demon stare of the Raion.

“I’d rather die,” he spat, saliva speckling his things and the bridge of Keith’s nose. The cold touch of metal bit into the space underneath the fingernail of his right index finger as the oyabun pressed the dagger into the skin. Heated breath caressed his ear as Keith leant towards him as if he was about to let him in on a secret. His closeness was more unsettling than the tip of the knife in his finger bed.

“I never said you’d live.” With the quickness of a lightning strike, he pushed the dagger forward and underneath the nail, separating the plate from the flesh. The pain was blinding as he used the knife’s edge to remove the nail completely. Blood sprayed across his chest in a macabre imitation of a Pollock painting. Prorok sunk his teeth into his tongue in an attempt to cage his cry of pain behind his teeth. The sharp pinch returned underneath his middle finger as Keith pulled back.

“You only get the relief of death once you’ve earned it,” he snarled as he thrust the dagger upwards once more, scooping the nail free of his finger. Without another word he repeated the process with the remaining digits on Prorok’s right hand, the vicious light gleaming in his eyes as the Akuma finally broke. His howl ripped apart the otherwise silent room and filled it with his pain. Blood dripped from his fingertips and onto the floor like garnet rain that stained the once white tile. 

“Where are they keeping him?” Keith’s voice was gruff, turning into a growl by the end. The exposed tips of his fingers were impossibly cold. He focused on the feeling in an attempt to push back the otherwise electric pain that was radiating up through his entire arm. Every cell in his body revolted against the trauma as it tried to protect itself against the injury.

“I don’t know,” he choked, looking away from the glare that would burn a hole straight through him. In truth, he really didn’t know. The last he’d seen the saiko-komon was at the warehouse where Haxus had been killed, but he hadn’t seen him since. Whether he was still there receiving his own torture or he was already dead and disposed of, Prorok couldn’t say. It was an admission that would sign his death warrant, and while he’d put up a front, his heart beat in triple time at the idea of his demise. 

Keith’s tongue clicked against the back of his teeth as he stood and returned to the table. With his back towards the Akuma, Prorok searched futilely for an escape. Jostling against the biting rope that had rubbed his skin raw, he felt the chair he was tied to hop slightly. Throwing himself against the binding again, the chair scooted forward again with a loud scrape against the tile. Keith used his dagger to pop the cover off a light switch near the table, leaving a smear of bright red against the white wall. The exposed wiring was ominous in the light of the room as he attached a jumper cable to them. 

Prorok rocked the chair again only to feel two of the legs leaving the floor. A moment of uncertainty passed before the balance shifted and he fell sideways into the pool of his own blood. A small sob escaped him as Keith’s footsteps returned to him and he heard the metallic clink of the other end of the jumper cable attaching to one of the chair’s legs. He watched as his torturer’s form walked back to the table and leaned a hip against it. The oyabun grasped the switch between two fingers as he fixed his murderous glare back on the man on the floor.

“That isn’t a good enough answer.” His voice was gravel and broken glass as he flicked the switch. Prorok’s vision went white as electricity ran through the metal of the chair and burned against his insides. Snot and drool rolled undignified from his nostrils and mouth as he shook against the ground, his body taken over by the white hot heat that coursed through it. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped, leaving his sight blurry with tears and pain as he gasped from the breath he’d been choked of as his body had seized. 

“Let’s try a new question. Where do the Akuma keep their captives?” Keith’s fingers kept their hold on the switch as he stared intently as Prorok as if he could lift the answers straight from his mind with sheer willpower. His captive continued to struggle for breath as his heart hammered against the back of his sternum. He had barely heard the question over the heartbeat that pounded in his ears. Fear was deafening him as he realized he was going to die there.

“I don’t- I don’t know where Shiro is,” he stammered through a sob of mucus and tears. “Please.” Any fight he had left in him dissipated as he saw Keith’s fingers twitch over the switch. 

“Keith,” a new voice cut through the din of his cries as another Raion joined them. There was a brief moment of silence before the oyabun turned his attention to his subordinate in the doorway with a quick nod to say what he needed to say. Prorok kept his eyes trained on the light switch. 

“We received a package.” The newcomer’s voice was hushed as if he didn’t want to divulge the information to his leader. He felt himself tense against the ropes as he realized it was the package he’d delivered to their temple. 

“What is it?” Keith asked sharply, annoyance coloring his tone. The mauve fire flickered back over Prorok before returning to the man in the doorway. His answering sigh was filled with unease. 

“We don’t know. It’s-” a pause as he chose his words. “It’s for you.” The Raion’s gaze met Prorok’s once more before he gave a curt nod to his subordinate. Pushing away from the table, he held the tortured man’s stare with a look of vehemence and disdain. 

The sharp amethyst of his eyes were the last thing Prorok saw before Keith flipped the switch and left the room.

*** 

His waka gashira stood around the package in the meeting room, staring down at it with suspicion. It was an unassuming brown box about three feet long and five inches wide as well as deep, and yet something about the simple cardboard made Keith’s skin crawl. 

“Where did you get this?” He asked, his voice breathless as his fingers dragged over one of the edges. A small, rust colored stain had bled through the corner, leaving an ominous blemish on the otherwise light brown material. 

“It was outside the temple.” Hunk’s voice was colored with a gruff edge as he reached into his pocket to pull out a folded half sheet of paper. “This was with it.” Ice filled his veins as he took the note. A weight settled across his chest as he took a steadying breath.His fingers trembled against the paper as he unfolded it, dread pooling in his gut as he read the words.

_We want the real Crimson Lion._

Blood roared in his ears as his shaking hands reached for the box. A prophetic knowing feeling was gnawing at his insides like worms through dirt. He could feel the holes it left leaving his nerve endings bare for all to see as his fingers ghosted over the cardboard and found the edge of the box. His entire being screamed for him to open it while also simultaneously begging him to leave it closed. With a steadying breath, his fingers dipped between the lid and body of the box so he could tug it off.

Color fell away from the world around him as it stopped with a violent shudder. Everything was void of color, descending into a monochromatic scene of whites, grays and blacks, and all Keith wanted to do was paint it all red. 

Red with his rage.

Red with his revenge.

Red with their blood.

An animalistic cry tore from his throat, shredding his vocal chords and leaving the metallic taste of blood in its wake. Three pairs of eyes watched him with a mix of worry and fear. 

Before them in the box, nestled in brown packing paper, was Shiro’s arm.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is where I apologize for that cliffhanger. If it makes you feel better, I screamed at myself for it already XD
> 
> YAAAAALL CHECK OUT THE AMAZING COMMISSION FROM PRINCE FOR ITTB! I'm seriously so in love, he captured exactly what I wanted and couldn't be any happier :) Not to mention, he was a dream to work with. Go give him some love!
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	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished The Song of Achilles. This is important to you because it has got me feeling some type of way, which in turn means my poor characters are feeling some type of way. Which means you may also end up feeling some type of way. SUFFER AS I SUFFER. Lol no but really, I poured a lot of feelings into this chapter. So if you hated it, please wait till tomorrow to tell me because today I’m feeling really proud over how this came out.
> 
> That big ol' italicized section at the beginning is a memory.
> 
> Some helpful terms:  
> Sumiyoshi-kai- The second largest Yakuza family and the Shinku no Raion's family. Rivals of the Yamaguchi-gumi family.  
> Yamaguchi-gumi- The largest Yakuza family and the Murasaki no Akuma's family. Rivals of the Sumiyoshi-kai family.  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.  
> Toyohashi- A city in between Kobe and Tokyo.  
> Tantō- A short traditional sword carried by samurai.

_They’d gotten into a fight. Another in a string of stupid, inconsequential arguments that had stained their friendship in the six months since Keith had ascended as the leader of the Shinku no Raion. After Daiki’s death, Shiro had been there to help pick up the rubble, applying the mortar to the crumbled bits of the clan that had been blown apart by the explosion of the Akuma. It hadn’t been until Keith started to resemble a whole human being again that he’d started to withdraw behind his own wall that he’d started to build in the process._

 

_His retreat had been slow. So slow, in fact, Keith hadn’t noticed until he had already slipped away through his fingers. Gone were the days when Shiro would catch his eye from across a room and hold it until the heat in his belly had nearly blinded him. Where the man would once be standing, crowding the space around him with everything that he was, was a vast emptiness that chilled him to the bone. It was a strange thing, to miss someone that was still very much there. He could look up and see Shiro conversing with Lance or Hunk just feet away and yet it felt as if he couldn’t be further. The pain of it left a wound in Keith’s chest that had begun to fester._

 

_When they’d had their first fight, it had been Keith that had started it, if only so he could draw Shiro’s attention to him._

 

And what would you have me do _, he’d nearly sneered. The anger had taken them both by surprise as he eyed his saiko-komon, waiting for his resolution for dealing with the clans that had started to bleed into the edges of their territory. The news of Daiki’s death had traveled quickly and clans from both the Yamaguchi-gumi and Sumiyoshi-kai families had their eyes on the prime areas the Raion had control over. This had made things even more dangerous for the young oyabun. He’d already kept his head down, only conversing with his most trusted advisors and staying within the temple as the dust settled, and he was starting to go stir crazy. Added on top of the pain that consistently ached in his chest whenever he received a hollow eyed stare from Shiro, he couldn’t help the way he’d lashed out._ I’m already hiding, Shiro. What else would you have me do?

 

_For a moment he could have sworn he’d seen the small spark of that familiar steel fire he had become accustomed to over the years, but it was quickly snuffed out as Shiro set his jaw and returned the exchange in a calm tone that only cut him deeper. Keith held onto the shrapnel that had fallen from the saiko-komon’s mouth as they’d aimed at each other’s weak spots. Though they had eventually come to an agreement for Shiro to pass as the oyabun in public, neither had escaped unscathed, and it’d only served as the first shots fired._

 

_Since then, Keith pushed at Shiro in hopes he could get him to push back and Shiro continued to hold him off, shooting to maim but never to destroy._

 

_At least, that had been until earlier when Shiro had stormed out, gun and tantō in hand to take care of a single thug that had been tormenting a shopkeeper near the temple._

 

You can’t let people walk all over you, _he’d said with an exasperated sigh and a hand rubbing at his temple as if Keith was giving him a headache. The small, vindictive voice within him purred at the thought only to be chased away by a louder, guilty voice._

 

I’m not, Shiro, _his name was always a caress on his lips and he hated himself for it,_ I just don’t think he’s an issue. He’s only one person. 

 

_As Keith paced the length of the old meeting room of the temple that they’d first met in, he replayed the scene in his mind, attempting to pick apart the exact words that had finally served as the blow to Shiro’s wall. He’d seen the moment the calm facade of his had snapped like a brittle twig beneath a foot. The change had been instantaneous as the dulled grey of his eyes suddenly shone with a ferocity that bit his skin._

 

One person is all that’s needed to influence more. 

 

_The words were spat with near disgust as he’d turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Keith alone yet again. It had been four hours since and though he felt the seething anger bubbling in his core, the cool edge of worry batted against the flames. If it was just one person that didn’t even have ties to a clan, he should have been back already. What if he’d been blinded by his anger? A moment of disregard was all that would be needed for someone to get the upper hand, even if he was the best fighter he knew._

 

_All he’d wanted was to know Shiro still felt anything at all._

 

_The sound of the paper screen door sliding open jolted him from his thoughts as he turned towards it, fear and hope pushing against each other as his eyes searched to find a pair of steel ones. He filled the space of the doorway with his broad shoulders and grim expression, a crusting red line of blood cutting down the fullness of his bottom lip from where it’d been split during the altercation._

 

_“You’re back.” Keith hated the way his voice cracked as relief buzzed through him._

 

_“Did you doubt I would be?” Shiro’s eyebrow arched in questioning as he fixed his vacant eyes on him. His voice was tired and filled with something Keith couldn’t quite place. Regret?_

 

_“If you were yourself, I wouldn’t.” Now that his fears had been sated, he let the earlier anger bleed back into his voice. Accusation colored his tone as he fixed his flaming jewel stare upon his saiko-komon. He watched the way Shiro’s jaw tightened at his words before he stepped into the room and slid the door shut behind him. Though he was just on the other side of the room, Keith became aware of the infinite space that seemed to stretch between them._

 

_“I am being myself,” Shiro said lowly, eyes burning into his oyabun’s chest as if he was trying to make him understand something. All he managed to do was set a match to Keith’s fury._

 

_“Who do you think you are, Shiro?” A pause as his voice betrayed him again as he said his name. “Because I’m sure I know who you are, and this isn’t it.” He threw as much vehemence into his tone to mask the way he wobbled over the sentiment. His heart ached as he looked at this hollow version of his best friend and his fingers longed to run over his skin._

 

Do you feel anything at all?

 

_“I’m just a tool for you, Keith.” He finally said as he took a steadying breath, his gaze boring deep into him. “That’s all I was ever meant to be. Give me and order and I’ll follow.”_

 

_Another pause._

 

_“I need you to be my leader.”_

 

_The words twisted like angry snakes in his stomach._ _The divide that stood between them was built upon those words, and Keith wanted nothing more than to tear them apart. With just two long strides, he closed the gap between their bodies and grabbed a fistful of Shiro’s shirt. It had all happened quickly, the sharp tug of a hand that pulled the saiko-komon down to him as Keith pressed their mouths together. The initial shock of it was immediate as the taste of metallic blood filled his mouth from the impact against Shiro’s already split lip._

 

_He opened into the kiss, inhaling him in as he ran his tongue across his best friend’s bottom lip. Keith couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t dreamed of what it would be like to finally press himself against Shiro like this. Long had the images of hands in hair and teeth on flesh burnt themselves onto the dreamscape of his mind, but never did he imagine them tasting of blood and desperation. The skin over his knuckles ached from where it’d been pulled tight over the bone with the intensity of his grip on the black fabric. A tentative swipe of Shiro’s tongue against his own raised a sunburst behind his eyelids before strong hands landed on his shoulders and pulled him back, the soft pop of their mouths dislodging filling the otherwise silent room._

 

_“Is that an order?” Shiro asked, the brusque anger in his voice conflicting the gentle pleading in his eyes. Keith watched as a war waged between the two differing emotions. His saiko-komon was leaving the decision to him, laying the opportunity to undo the wall he’d put up between them at his feet like a gift at a shrine. The realization only made Keith hungrier._

 

_“Is that an order?” He demanded again as his hands slipped from Keith’s shoulders and down to his biceps, leaving forest fires in their wake._

 

_“You want an order?” Keith’s voice was filled with the blaze that was racing through his body. Staring up into the angry grey sea of Shiro’s eyes, he made his decision._

 

_“Then fucking kiss me.”_

 

_Their second kiss was just a crushing as the first as Shiro pulled him in, the grip of his fingers sure to leave bruises on the soft skin of his arms. Biting at each other as they had done with their words, they threw themselves into their passion. A small huff of air escaped Keith as he was pushed against a wall. The hands that had held him so strongly loosened before brushing back up his shoulders and cradled the square of his jaw. Shiro’s warm palms pressed against his pulse as his thumbs grazed the peaks of his cheek bones. Gently, the previous roughness fading completely from his touch, he tilted Keith’s face upwards as he slowed their rhythm to a languid pace. The oyabun’s skin tingled wherever Shiro touched him, each caress adding another ripple on the surface of his composure. Pulling away slightly, his saiko-komon brushed the tip of his nose against his and filled Keith’s vision with endless steel plains._

 

_“I guess I can’t disobey orders.” His voice was honey, thick and sweet._

 

_“No,” Keith said breathlessly as he turned his face just enough to press his lips to the inside of Shiro’s wrist. “I am your leader.”_

 

I am yours.

 

_The true meaning of his words danced across the veins beneath his lips. He felt as the pulse within them quickened slightly at the implication._

 

_“Another order?” Shiro ask, his voice hitching as Keith dragged the soft bow of his lip against the fragile skin again. Mauve galaxies glittered in his oyabun’s eyes as he turned his stare back towards him._

 

_“Take me to my room.”_

 

_They filled the hall with the sound of heavy breathing and stolen kisses as they made their way to Keith’s room. In the darkness, they painted their names across skin with their tongues and teeth, leaving their marks on the other’s flesh. The air of the room became cloying and heady as they pressed into each other, exploring the uncharted expanses of muscle that lay between them. Pleasure crashed around them in waves and dragged them below its heated waters as they lulled into the embrace of arms and moonlight._

 

_As the echoes of their desire faded from the darkness of the room, Keith pressed a feather light kiss to the sharp ridge of Shiro’s collarbone before melting into the halo of his arms. The shadows in the room shifted as the light slowly moved through the night as they finally spoke again as they always had. It felt like Keith was welcoming him home as he listened to the musical laugh that rocked through Shiro’s chest and pulled the corner of his lips into a small smile. Only when stray beams of sunlight started to chase the moonlight away did the saiko-komon fell into a deep sleep, leaving Keith alone with his thoughts. Pulling away slightly, he let his eyes wander over the man next to him._

 

_As he looked at Shiro’s sleeping form, the white dash of hair caressing the bridge of his nose and his mouth slightly agape with small snores, Keith felt something pop into place within his chest. In that moment all the stars and planets of his being aligned to reveal to him a fact he’d always known._

 

_He would always bring Shiro home, whether it be from conflict that waged around the clan or from within himself, and he would burn the world to the ground if he needed to._

 

***

 

Lance was struggling against fatigue when he finally threw himself down onto the king sized bed in his and Hunk’s room. Dull pain still radiated from the flat of his jaw as he tried to ignore the aging bruise that discolored his skin. It had been a little over a day since Keith had punched him, and though he still wished nothing more than to return the favor, he’d already forgiven him. Had forgiven him the moment Hunk had pulled him away because, though he wasn’t prepared to admit just yet, he understood. 

 

Exhaling loudly, enjoying the way his hissing breath filled the room around him, Lance pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. The image of the furniture store welcomed him against the darkness of his eyelids. He could smell the stomach turning scent of the rusty liquid that drenched the place. Could see the bodies strewn across the ground in disarray. 

 

He saw Keith laying alone on a cleared halo of ground.

 

It was all he saw whenever he’d closed his eyes, which was the reason he’d spent the past four nights staring into the darkness as he lay wrapped around Hunk with his nose pressed to his hair. That first night after they’d brought Keith home, he hadn’t even been sure he could stand to spend the night in his room for fear the image would taint the one place he truly felt safe. The only reason he’d even come had been because of Hunk’s reassurances and gentle smile. 

 

He’d move mountains for that smile.

 

A yawn cracked his jaw as he dropped his arms outwards to either side of him, eyes still screwed shut as he battled against the blood soaked image.

 

After Keith had awakened the day after they’d brought him home, he’d thrown himself and everyone around him into the search for Shiro. That first day, he and Hunk had ended up back in Toyohashi where they’d picked apart every building that could possibly hold some sort of Akuma activity. Each time they’d kick in a door and search the area, Lance would steel himself against the worst possible outcome: Shiro lying dead in the middle of a forgotten warehouse. 

 

Each time they were met with emptiness or the occasional Akuma that they’d quickly dispose of.

 

That night, he held tightly onto Hunk as the weapons specialist fought against his own fitful sleep.

 

The next day, as the unforgiving fingers of fatigue had started to make his body heavy, they were ambushed by ten Akuma that had heard the Raion were looking for them. His mind shifted away from the scene at the furniture store to that of Hunk caught beneath one of the rival Yakuza with a knife to his throat. Fury had seized him then, attaching itself to him like the strings of a marionette as it yanked him forward in a blaze of bullets and primal screams. 

 

It was that fury that had carried him into the room Keith had made his home as he unleashed his fears on him, disguised behind a thick mask of rage.

 

_You can’t risk the rest of the clan for one person. Shiro would understand that._

 

Lance’s words had found their mark and for a moment he’d almost reveled in the way the oyabun’s mouth had twisted into an angry snarl that had mirrored his own. His darkness recognized Keith’s darkness that was barely containing itself under the surface of his crushed velvet eyes.

 

Yes. He understood.

 

The light sound of the bedroom door opening and closing pulled him from deep within his thoughts. Springs creaked as a new weight caused the mattress to dip beneath the addition to its surface. Hair tickled his nose as Hunk’s head found the crook of his neck, his even breaths dancing across Lance’s pulse point and the minty scent of his shampoo filling his senses. A strong arm wrapped itself around the sharpshooter’s waist and pulled him in closer so that their bodies aligned.

 

“You alright?” His voice was a near whisper as it brushed against his skin. Lance hummed deep in his throat as he curled his arm around Hunk’s shoulder just to feel the solidness of him.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. With his eyes still shut to the world, he started to count the breaths on his neck as the flashing images of blood and anger started to retreat back into the shadows. If he was alright, he would be able to sleep. If he was alright, fear wouldn’t blemish his intentions with its inky black stain. If he was alright, he wouldn’t see visions of Hunk’s arm in the place of Shiro’s tucked inside that cardboard box. But he had no right to not be alright. Keith’s grief was for him to feel and he wouldn’t diminish it with his own. 

 

Hunk made a small sound as he nuzzled his nose against Lance’s skin. The moment stretched between them as they lay together in silence, both enjoying the solid feeling of the other just being there.

 

“I’m worried about him,” Hunk finally said, breaking the silence. “He didn’t even look like himself earlier.” As soon as Keith had opened the box from the Akuma, his features had contorted into a monstrous mask of brutality and wrath. It was the look of a true devil and had sent a shiver of fear down Lance’s spine, though whether that fear came from the bloodthirsty stare or the familiarity of it, he wasn’t sure. 

 

“I get it, you know.” His voice vibrated against Hunk’s skull as he spoke. A beat passed before the weapons specialist started to pull away from Lance’s embrace. Cool air rushed against the heated points on his skin where his love’s had brushed against it. 

 

“Lance,” Hunk’s voice was filled with an immeasurable sadness as he looked down at the lanky sharpshooter. The very sound of it tightened around Lance’s heart. With a sigh, he finally opened his eyes and sat up besides him. His gaze scanned over Hunk’s face, taking in the darkly tanned skin that reminded him of summertime. A small quirk at the right corner of his mouth permanently pulled his full lips into a small smile, and Lance had to fight against his own being to not lean forward and kiss it. A hundred different scenarios ran through his head all at once as he traced the lines of Hunk’s square jaw, and each ended with him turning to the very same rage Keith had boiling within. His eyes were sharp sapphires that cut straight through the skin as he stared at Hunk, trying to convey what he felt through sheer force of will.

 

“If you were ever-” he started, tripping of his words. 

 

“I know,” Hunk shushed as he brushed his fingertips across Lance’s cheek, wiping away the tears he hadn’t even realized he’d begun to shed. 

 

“You don’t!” The cry tore from him as he grabbed the hand from his face and held it firmly in his own. Steel hardened Hunk’s chocolate gaze as Lance shut his eyes and took a steadying breath. He carefully slotted their fingers together as he tried to search for the right words. How did he properly convey the way his own heart bled at the thought of being in Keith’s shoes? That the mere idea of Hunk in Shiro’s place tore him open and left his entrails bare for the vultures? They’d all gotten a glimpse of the demon that was slowly picking apart their leader and stood like a deadly imposter wearing his skin. Yet, he understood. If it were him, he’d already have handed the reins over to his darkness and let it eat him from the inside out if that’s what it would take to bring his love home.

 

“It takes a demon to fight a demon.” He finally murmured, his voice low and broken as he squeezed their fingers together. 

 

Hunk’s other hand trembled as his large palm hugged the square of his jaw, his fingertips tickling his hairline and his thumb caressing the crest of his cheek. Lance pressed into the touch, blue gaze on him as he searched for a sign that he understood. A small fist squeezed his heart as Hunk nodded before he pulled his hand from his grasp and placed it on the other side of his face. Ever so slowly, he pulled Lance into him and pressed their foreheads together, his even breaths melding with Lance’s harried ones in the space between them.

 

“We aren’t them, and I’m not going anywhere,” he paused as he searched for his next words. “They’re going to be okay.” 

 

The brunette heard the true meaning of his words.

 

_We’re going to be okay._

 

With timid pressure, Hunk pressed his lips to Lance’s. The kiss started as a gentle graze before blooming with heat, tongue and teeth. As they pressed together and their breathing came in ragged gasps, Hunk attempted to dull the bated beat of his heart. Carding his fingers through the dark brown strands of his lover’s hair, Lance let him fill the cracks that had started to develop under his skin as he let his words replay on repeat in his head.

 

_We’re going to be okay._

 

***

 

The grainy footage of ten separate CCTV feeds flickered across the laptop screen, emitting its strange colorless glow over the room and draining what little pigmentation Pidge had from her skin. In the darkness of her room, she looked like a specter as her eyes focused onto the video and she chewed on the corner of her thumbnail. As she stabbed a finger into the return key on her keyboard, the feeds went blank before flickering back to life in ten different locations. She continued clicking through the different footage as she worried the nail between her teeth. 

 

There were hundreds of thousands of CCTV lines she had connected through her computer programing, and she’d been painstakingly picking through them ten at a time since they’d found Keith alone in that furniture store. Another program that she had running on a desktop computer in the corner of the room was scanning traffic cameras, social media posts, and all other forms of digital media, cross referencing what few photos she had of the clan members with what it found in hopes of pinpointing their location. 

 

She’d placed her faith in her technology the same way some placed their faiths in Gods, and it had never failed her before. Yet as she pressed the return key once again, eyes flickering over the camera footage that revealed nothing at all, she couldn’t help but feel if this was something even technology couldn’t help them with. There was a reason that after three years of searching, she still didn’t have an exact location for the Akuma’s headquarters. They were impeccable about keeping their faces from the panoptic view of the cameras that watched over major cities and ports. What few Akuma slipped up almost always ended up found dead in an alley or floating in a waterway. The only images she had that could still be used had come from the temples own cameras on the night of the attack that had killed Keith’s father. A shudder ghosted over her as she remembered the footage of that night, horror gripping her throat as she’d watched her friends scatter for safety as their oyabun lay dead in the dirt. 

 

Pushing the memory away, she continued her search for Shiro within the black and white world of the CCTV footage. 

 

Waves of all too familiar fear had continuously beat against her since they’d received the call from the Okazaki contact about the gunfire at the shop. That same fear had nearly sucked her under and threatened to drown her when Lance and Hunk had returned with Keith held between them and grave expressions darkening their gazes. 

 

It was the same despair that had stalked her ever since her father and brother had been taken.

 

Pidge hadn’t realized anything could cause her the same type of pain she’d felt when she’d returned home that fateful day to find the door kicked in and blood smeared across the walls. Yet when they’re reported that Shiro was gone and Keith had been found alone, the same aching burn of desperation had thrown its needlelike claws into her throat. 

 

The Shinku no Raion had accepted her as family, and Shiro had become another brother to her. When she’d given up hope on ever finding her family, he’d always throw an arm around her shoulders and fix her with his grey eyes before repeating his favorite mantra.

 

_Patience yields focus._

 

She always pretended to hate it, but as she stared holes into her computer screen, she knew she’d give anything to feel the weight of his large arm on her while his voice laughed around the words. 

 

Losing him had left the door open for her demons to crawl through and bury themselves deep into the dark recesses of her mind. Not that she was the only one. Pidge drew in a long breath before letting it go through her teeth as she thought about the way Keith’s eyes had darkened when he’d stared at the Akuma that Allura had brought to them, or the inhuman nature of his expression when he’d returned from where he’d taken the man.

 

It was the expression of a feral animal that had been backed into a corner and was ready to fight to the death. 

 

That very expression helped push her on in her search as her eyes fought to keep themselves open from the lack of sleep. 

 

Another click. Another ten screens without any answers.

 

Another click.

 

Ten more screens.

 

Click.

 

Screens.

 

With a loud cry, she slammed the laptop shut and threw it across the cream comforter on her bed. The silver machine skittered across the plush material before it stopped precariously close to the edge of the bed. She was just so tired. Tired of helplessly clicking through useless camera footage. Tired of the way her eyes burned as she stared at the lit up screens of her computers. Tired of losing the people she cared about most. She felt useless. This wasn’t a world she was meant to be in, and no matter how hard she pretended she did, Pidge knew she couldn’t do as much for the clan as Lance or Hunk or Shiro. Her breath caught in her throat as she bitterly thought his name, shame flooding through her as she quietly sent a prayer to the heavens for his safety.

 

The small, electronic ping of the desktop pulled her golden gaze across the room where a pop up screen obscured a black and white image. Hopping out of her chair, Pridge tripped over her feet as she scrambled to get to the computer as if the screen would disappear. Her gaze danced across the words on the screen, screaming against the brightness of the white background, before she moved the pop up out of the way so she could look at the image. A blistering ray of hope burnt her insides as she traced the faces in the image. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed up quick notes about the location of the camera that had captured the photo before she hit print on the information. 

 

Grabbing the pages as soon as they fell from the printer, she flicked through the paper as a barely there smile turned her lips upwards.

 

“Gotcha.”

 

*******

 

The metallic sound of his daggers against a sharpening stone kept Keith company in his otherwise silent room. His glare bore into the sharpened edge of the blade he was working on, thrusting as much of the rage that bubbled like magma under his skin into his work. 

 

_We want the real Crimson Lion_.

 

He would make them regret those words. After running a deft finger over the point of the dagger and receiving a smooth slice across the pad, he tucked it gently into its sheath and pulled out another. As he dragged it quickly across the stone, his mind flickered quickly over the contents of the box. The fingers of it were purpled and twisted from having been broken, and a raw circle from a restraint had bitten into the flesh of its wrist. In the crease of the elbow, a blackened ring of burnt skin in the shape of the Akuma insignia. 

 

His stomach turned as he threw a bit more aggression into his movement than he’d intended, the blade stuttering over the stone. Keith’s hands trembled as his mind filled in the events that had occurred before the limb had been dropped off at their doorstep. A mallet to the fingers, each cracking under the weighted head of the hammer. Metal restraints would be what caused the kind of cuts against the wrist as Shiro had tried to pull against them. 

 

The oyabun swallowed bile as he could smell the burnt flesh as they pushed the brand into his skin.

 

His insides were sawdust as his anger continuously spun against them. First the Akuma had taken his father, then they’d taken his heart, all in the name of a war that wasn’t even his own to fight. Testing the tip of the next dagger, he spun the small blade through his fingers.

 

It wasn’t his fight, but he would finish it. 

 

Roaring loudly, he threw the dagger into the wall ahead of him, the loud thunk of it impaling the surface resembling that of a blade against flesh. Fiery tears of fury spilled from his eyes as he glared at the knife as if he could will the wall into a human form. The things he would do if Zarkon stood before him. He would carve his fury into his flesh before pulling it from his bones. He’d core him and leave him empty and bare for his clan to find, strung up to exsanguinate like an animal. It was more than he even deserved. If Keith could, he would bring everything Zarkon had ever touched to an end, and only after he’d seen everything he held dearly crumble, would he send him to the hell he belonged.

 

A small knock interrupted his venomous thoughts and dragged him back to the world. He turned towards the door, teeth bared like a wild dog before he saw that it was Pidge. She stood in the doorway, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed as she attempted to catch her breath. 

 

“Pidge?” Keith’s voice was thick with emotion as they both pretended they couldn’t see the tears that still glistened on his cheeks. She lifted a small hand with a fistful of papers covered in images and ink. One particular image of what looked like a shadowy figure caught his eye.

 

“Keith,” his named mixed with the hush of her breath. “I found him.”

 

*******************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you'd like to see BTS, sneak peeks and my random ass thoughts while writing, you can find those on twitter @odmwrites
> 
> YAAAAALL CHECK OUT THE AMAZING COMMISSION FROM PRINCE FOR ITTB! I'm seriously so in love, he captured exactly what I wanted and couldn't be any happier :) Not to mention, he was a dream to work with. Go give him some love!
> 
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/PRllNCE/status/922526652344782848)   
>  [Tumblr](http://prllnce.tumblr.com/post/166717037675/commission-for-theolddarkmachine-of-their-fic)


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of notes on this one guys!  
> First, I **’m doing a 12 Days of Christmas prompt fill!** I’m gifting fics to my readers, and all you need to do is send in a prompt! Check out the rules [HERE!](https://theolddarkmachine.tumblr.com/post/166057251722/help-odm-needs-you) (Basically, I’ll do pretty much anything minus non-con, underage and the extreme fetishes. Does NOT need to be holiday themed!) Due date is 10/31. There are only five slots left, so get yours today! 
> 
> Second, when I started this update, I thought I would need to combine two chapters to make it long enough. Then it ended up being the longest chapter so far without the help. **HERE IS YOUR VIOLENCE WARNING. BLOOD AND KILLING HAPPENS.**
> 
> Third, I'm taking a break from writing next week! Partially cuz I wrote over 60k words last month-- not including what I've already done this month. Partially cuz I got a commission for this one that I wanna give the artist some time to work on so I can share it with a couple of the chapters :D And partially because S4 comes out next week and like the adult that I am, I am going to rewatch and binge. Next update is currently schedule for 10/19-10/20 time. (But possibly earlier if I can't help myself and write anyway.)
> 
> Finally, here are some helpful terms:  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.  
> Yamaguchi-gumi- The largest Yakuza family. Rivals of the Sumiyoshi-kai family.  
> Port of Yokohama- A Tokyo Bay port with ten major piers about 45 minutes from Yanaka. More specifically the Minami Honmoku pier is the containership pier that the Akuma are at.

Blood was rushing in Keith’s ears and the acrid taste of adrenaline and bile mingled at the top of his throat and coated the back of his tongue as a constant reminder of the worry that had coursed through him. The van he and his waka gashira had piled into hit a pot hole, throwing his shoulder into Pidge’s and cutting her words off as the impact rattled her teeth. Metallic rust filled her mouth as her teeth sunk into her tongue. A small squeak of pain escaped her as she rubbed a hand over her mouth.

 

“Sorry guys!” Hunk called over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the road as they sped over the Shuto Expressway towards the Yokohama port. 

 

Everything had passed in a blur after Pidge had made her way into his room with news that she’d found Shiro. Almost as soon as the words fell from her mouth, he was out of the room, hand curled around her small bicep as he dragged her through the halls towards Hunk and Lance’s room, shooting rapid fire questions at her the entire way. After informing them of the new development, Keith’s words clipped at the edges and only giving as much as was necessary, they’d grabbed their weapons and piled into one of the clan’s vans that was used specifically for transporting smuggled weapons and the occasional body. Silence had filled the van for the first few minutes of the drive as the only sound any of them made was the mottled, heavy rasps of their breathing. 

 

Or maybe they’d spoken, but Keith had already retreated so far in on himself, clutching to the buoy of hope from those three words that he missed any conversation completely.

 

_I found him._

 

He’d guarded the words, holding them closely against his chest as he looked over the images Pidge had printed of Zarkon and Sendak pulling Shiro between them as they slipped into the large industrial doors of an empty warehouse. As she’d finally started to speak, Keith barely registered the coordinates she was listing off that she’d managed to pull from the camera that had supplied the grainy greyscale image. He felt his eyes dragging down the sharp line of Shiro’s cheekbone as if he could pull some sort of evidence that he was still alive from the black and white photo. Without color, he couldn’t be sure of the exact hue of the bruise that was pixelated over the high bone, but it was dark enough to register as inky black in the photo. His wine stained gaze traveled further still over the image, locking onto the fabric that was tied around Shiro’s right arm, covering the stump that ended prematurely about mid-bicep. An even darker blemish dirtied the light cloth with what he knew to be his blood. Keith’s fingers trembled as he caressed the photo, breathing poison laced curses to himself.

 

“Keith?” Lance’s voice was a near shout that broke him of his reverie. Pulling his hand away from the image as if it had burned him, the oyabun turned his attention to the sharp shooter, a gruff growl rolling around his mouth in acknowledgement. 

 

“We’re 15 minutes out,” the brunette said, crystalline eyes boring into Keith from where he sat in the passenger seat. “Is there a plan?”

 

A plan. He knew he should have one, but all his mind could focus on was the black ink bruise on Shiro’s cheek and the bloodied stump that had once been his arm. Shiro was within their grasp, and his skin was itching with the need to have him back safely in their hands. Keith hadn’t thought much further than that. He didn’t need a thought out plan, he just needed to get to where Shiro was. Once there, he would do whatever it took to save him. Wasn’t that plan enough?

 

“The plan is to get Shiro out alive, and kill everyone we need to to do it,” he finally said, his voice burning with malice as he looked out the window. Sunlight was glinting off the water of the Tokyo Bay and he let it momentarily blind him. A thick quiet fell over the four Raion as they ruminated on his words. A tentative hand settled on his bicep.

 

“I think we need more of a plan than that,” Pidge’s voice was soft as she looked up at him from the seat to his left. “We need you to be a leader right now.” She paused as she chose her next words.

 

“Shiro is going to need you to be a leader.”

 

A small bubble of hysteria welled up in his chest at the words that had once been Shiro’s. Pushing it down deep within himself, Keith brought a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Breathing deeply, he settled the angry pitching in his stomach. 

 

“You’ll stay with the van, Pidge.” His voice was brusque with authority as he laid out his orders, dropping his hand back to his side and fixing his mauve eyes on her. “Since you won’t be in our ears this time around, it will be up to you to send out a signal if things start to go to shit outside the warehouse. Three honks, got it?” 

 

It wasn’t ideal, but they would need to make due with what they had. There hadn’t been time to set up their usual communications when they’d left, or rather, he didn’t let there be time. _We can regret that later_ , he thought to himself as he eyed Pidge, waiting for her confirmation. Her head bobbed in acknowledgement before she turned away from him to look out the window. He tried to ignore the way her shoulders were tensed under the green fabric of her shirt.

 

_We can regret that later._

 

“Hunk, Lance,” he nearly barked. Lance turned back to face him as Hunk hummed an affirmation.

 

“You’ll both come with me. Usual rules stand, use blades until you can’t, or until someone else fires first.” Lance’s face faltered slightly as he nodded. “We don’t know how many will be there, and we don’t want to give our position away too early. If they have too much time they could--” 

 

_They could kill Shiro_. 

 

The words hung like gallows between them as Keith struggled to get them out of his throat. It was just a fact, one that would have been true for any Raion that was captured by their rivals. How many times had he spoken of the chance of death for one of his clansmen in the past? For all they knew, he was already dead, the photos capturing the transport of a corpse. The air grew thick with the implication as the words didn’t come, instead creating a burning lump in his throat.

 

“They could get him out of there and we’d lose him again,” Hunk’s voice hid the lie well beneath its confident tone. Lance’s electric gaze flashed towards the weapon specialist before he nodded.

 

“Got it?” Keith asked, voice weak as he swallowed the stone that had been sitting on his vocal chords.

 

“Got it,” they said in unison, their voices wrapping around each other the way only Hunk and Lance’s did. A small pang of jealousy shuddered through his chest.

 

“Good. There’s your plan.” His words were flat and lifeless as he ignored the look his two waka gashira shared before Lance turned back to look out at the road ahead of them. Keith shifted his attention to the window beside him, eyes fixed on the fire that danced over the Tokyo Bay as it drew ever closer.

 

*******

 

Pidge sat in the deserted silence of the van that now seemed far too large without the other three Raion with her. Her job was simple: Wait in the van and be prepared to get them the hell out of there when they came back with Shiro.

 

“I will bring him back,” Keith had said sharply, his voice barely disguising the feeling of desperation that she shared. They needed to find Shiro here, she knew it and he knew it, but they left the words unsaid. If Shiro wasn’t there, they most likely wouldn’t find him. If they did, he wouldn’t be alive. This was their only chance of getting the saiko-komon back from the Akuma. Pidge sent a silent prayer to the heavens that they would find him., and find him alive. 

 

Not just for Shiro’s sake, but for Keith’s. 

 

A handgun sat in her lap, the weight of it keeping her grounded as she let her gaze wander over the warehouse and the pier that it sat on.

 

“Stay safe,” Hunk had said as he’d handed it to her. Lance stood over his shoulder, a small sad smile on his face as he nodded in agreement.

 

“I’m not the one you have to worry about,” had been her response as her honey gaze flickered toward Keith, who had already pulled his daggers from his thigh sheath as he glared at the large sheet metal doors that stood between them and the bowels of the building.

 

“We’ll make sure he’s okay,” Lance had said before they left her alone in the van and disappeared into the storehouse. 

 

It had probably been no more than 10 minutes since they left, but those minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity as she waited in the quiet. The hair on her arms stood against a constant chill that was running marathons over her spine. Something had felt wrong, but she hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. But she could feel it. It was the kind of feeling that preceded a storm or any other natural disaster.

 

As her eyes scanned the area, a pair of shadows appeared in the distance. Though they only stood far off, she could feel their twin gazes burning through the windshield as they appraised the van that was sitting outside of the seemingly empty warehouse. Her heart stuttered as she fixed them with her own questioning gaze, the pair too distant for her to make anything out aside from the direction of their stares.

 

The cold steel of the gun weighed heavily against her thigh as Pidge watched them, slowly counting her breathes in a vain attempt at slowing her heart rate. Her fingers thrummed nervously against the cracked leather of the steering wheel that lay against her palms, slightly slick with her sweat. 

 

“Calm down, Pidge.” She ignored the way her voice trembled as she continued to keep her amber gaze fixed on the pair as they eyed her in return. “For all you know, they’re just some dock workers.”

 

The lie was bitter on her tongue as she said it. If there was anything she knew, it was that the only people that would be in the vicinity of the warehouse would be Akuma. They weren’t sloppy enough to leave bystanders around them, especially when they were in Raion territory and had their saiko-komon hidden somewhere inside. While they sometimes grew complacent sitting atop the throne of death that they’d built in order to become the number one clan in the Yamaguchi-gumi, they hardly ever let themselves be sloppy. 

 

_Unless it was intentional._

 

Air was dragged from her lungs in a loud gasp as the realization hit her. Tearing her eyes away from the figures that had started to walk towards the van, she stretched herself around the driver’s seat and reached for the pile of papers that lay alone in the seat behind her. Ignoring the sharp sting of the paper’s edge slicing across the skin of her fingers, she flipped through the pages until she found the photo again. Shiro’s head had fallen forward, limp with his chin tucked into his chest with the weight that his neck couldn’t support. Holding onto his left arm, with the back of his head towards the camera was the Akuma oyabun. If the sword that obediently sat on his side didn’t give it away, his hulking frame would have. That wasn’t what had made her blood run cold though. 

 

Her golden eyes moved towards the last man in the photo. With his large hands clutching what was left of the arm they’d sent to the temple, Sendak stood with his body angled inwards towards Shiro, and thus towards the camera. His head was turned just enough that upon first, and even second, look it appeared that he was looking down at the man that hung limply between the two of them. As Pidge leaned closer, she felt her lungs start to burn with the breath she’d begun to hold as her gaze locked onto that of Sendak’s captured one. It was barely perceptible given the angle and the graininess from the cheap technology, but his glare burnt upwards as it locked onto the gaze of the lense. 

 

Drawing them out had been their intention all along.

 

Glass sprayed across her face, shards of the driver side window cutting across her cheek as one of the Akuma she’d been keeping an eye on broke the window in with a crowbar. Strong fingers closed around her throat, choking her of oxygen as it pulled her towards the now gaping hole.The gun in her lap slid from her thigh and caught between the door and the seat. 

 

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here?” A deep voice hissed against her ear, the heat of the yakuza’s breath raising goosebumps over her skin. Warm liquid began to stain her shirt where the jagged teeth of the window were cutting into her arm and chest as he pulled her further out the opening. Pidge’s breath rasped as she tried to retort, the heavy hand effectively catching the words in her throat.

 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was here for a friend.” The second voice sounded bored and she could just barely see him leaning against the van with his arms crossed as he eyed the scene. Black spots of unconsciousness and a sinister smile filled her vision as she reached a hand toward the gun that sat precariously perched just beneath her fingertips. She felt the smooth metal brush against her skin. 

 

It was so close.

 

“We were told to kill all the Raion, but I think we could find some use for you,” her captor smarmed before he cut his dark glance towards his companion. The slight nod of his head was nearly blocked by the large black stain eating away at her sight. Blood was roaring in her ears and a gasp rattled in her lungs. She extended her arm ever so slightly further, the cool metal touching just past the tips of her fingers now.

 

“I’m sure we could get a great price for her. She does look very young, and you know the young ones always sell well.” It felt as if a knife was twisted in her chest, just above her heart as the words sunk in. Though they were dripping with disinterest, they unlocked a primal fear that gripped her limbs. Images started to melt into the darkness that had nearly taken over her eyesight. Her brother’s smiling face as he laughed at something she’d said. Her father’s hazel eyes that twinkled as he ruffled her hair. 

 

Their blood smeared across the wall of their living room.

 

Dread was what pushed her hand that final inch between the crevice where the gun had fallen, her fingers blindly finding the grip. The Akuma’s words were a distant thrum as she pulled the pistol up, pointed it towards the direction of the window and pulled the trigger. 

 

All sound slipped away as the shot rang out, replaced instead by a high pitched scream that filled her ears from the proximity of the gunshot. Air rushed into Pidge’s lungs as the hand was wrenched from her throat, finally allowing her to breathe. Pushing herself further into the van and onto the passenger seat, away from the broken window, she gasped greedily at the air as her lungs screamed at her with each shaking breath she took. The black spots started to shrink and the sunlight filled her vision as she saw the man that had choked her holding his hands over his ears as he bent at the waist in pain. His partner had pushed away from the van and was fiddling at his side for his own pistol, eyes wide with surprise. 

 

With a shaking hand and unsteady wheezes, Pidge aimed the nozzle of the pistol at the fumbling man, only taking a moment to say a silent prayer for the family these men had taken from her before she pulled the trigger again. Glass rained down in a shimmering cascade of sunlit crystal as the bullet tore through the window and into the man’s chest. 

 

The shrill keen in her ears persisted as she watched his mouth open and close, forming soundless words as he gaped at her, crimson blossoming like a deadly rose over his shirt before he crumpled to the ground. A twisted grimace obscured her attacker’s face when he noticed his partner on the ground, blood staining the pavement beneath him. One hand went to the gun on his hip as the other clutched the door, ignoring the glass that cut into his palm, red trails spilling over the edge as he glared at her. With one final breath, her lungs finally wrapping around the air she took in comfortably, Pidge held his dark gaze as she pointed the gun at him and fired. The impact at such a short range sent him flying back through a red mist punctuated by jagged pieces of skull. 

 

A beat passed as she breathed evenly in an attempt to quiet the deafening shriek that was muddling the rest of her senses. Then she dropped the gun, only slightly aware of the way it bounced against the carpeted floor of the van. Turning her hands towards her, the palms slick with sweat and their small shape quaking, she inspected them. 

 

It was the first time she’d ever killed anyone.

 

Pidge’s head began to spin as she stared at her own skin, half expecting her hands to warp and twist with the blood that was now on her hands. The high pitched squeal subsided slightly, the sound of the outside world returning, though it sounded as if it were being strained through cotton balls. A boat in the next pier blared its horn, and a bird landed on the van’s roof, all sounding distant but all producing sound nonetheless. 

 

“Now isn’t the time to panic,” she admonished herself, letting her hands fall into her lap and ignoring the way they still shook against her thighs. Taking another breath so large, her small chest strained against the fabric of her button up, she turned her attention to the warehouse. They’d undoubtedly heard her gunfire. If the Akuma were unaware that they’d yet arrived, they would know now thanks to her panic. 

 

Eyeing the building, she began to count the seconds. No one had run out yet after hearing the sound, which could very well mean they’d already entered into battles of their own. She refused to think about any other reason they may not have returned to check on things outside. 

 

_I should sound the signal_ , she thought to herself as her amber gaze flickered from the industrial doors to the steering wheel that lay between her and them. _But we’re so close._

 

Turning her attention to the clock on the dash, she counted the tick marks. She would give them 10 minutes before she honked the horn that would call Keith and his other waka gashira back out to the van. 

 

“Please find him, Keith.” Her voice was a whisper as she looked back at the building. 

 

Letting her gaze fall from the metal sheeted walls of the warehouse, Pidge leant over to grab the gun from the floor. Carefully setting it back on her lap, she waited, her eyes flickering every couple of seconds back towards the clock.

 

_Nine minutes._

 

*******

 

Hunk’s tentative footsteps bounced off the metal walls of the hall as he drove further into the warehouse. When they’d pushed into the building, they’d expected to be greeted with a large open space, but were instead met with a long corridor that branched out into two separate paths. Tension had rolled off of Keith in nauseating waves when he’d seen it as he had tried to calculate the amount of time it would take for the three of them to investigate both routes. Hunk saw the way his eyes deadened as he realized that staying together would only increase Shiro’s chances of being killed.

 

“I’ll take the left,” he’d heard himself say before he’d even known he was going to say anything at all. It had been the obvious choice for him to be the one to go alone. They couldn’t afford to let Keith be overcome by the enemy, and Lance was the next in line after Shiro. So it had only made sense when he offered to go on alone further into the eerie calm of the warehouse. That hadn’t stopped Lance from shooting him an ultramarine glare filled with betrayal and concern. 

 

Shaking his head clear of the way the look had cut into his chest, Hunk pushed forward, eyes sweeping over the hallway that seemed to never end. Something about the walls that didn’t seem to have any doors called up an image of a rat in a maze in his mind, and it made his skin crawl. There was a wrongness about this whole thing, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Why had the Akuma chosen a port right within their territory, not even a full hour away from their temple? He’d been on enough jobs to know that their rivals only stepped so far into their territory to take people for their trafficking schemes. They’d never keep a captive there. At least not unless it was a part of a bigger plan.

 

Foreboding froze his veins as he made his way deeper into the bowels of the endless hall as his muddled thoughts spilled over each other, clashing against each other like wild animals fighting for a piece of meat.

 

Tapping his thumb gently against the leather bound handle of his bowie knife that was clutched in his right fist, Hunk began to count the number of steps he took, measuring time and distance with the muffled scuffs of his soft boot soles over the warehouse ground. 

 

Then he heard it. 

 

Carried over the walls, the metallic enclosure amplifying the the distant murmur, was the distinct sound of hissing voices. One was filled gravel while its companion flowed like an undisrupted stream, both pouring over each other with the same musical cadence of a river over rocks.

 

“-- damn scum can’t keep their noses out of our business,” the hard edged voice growled as Hunk pressed himself against the cool wall. Soft rasps of fabric against metal tickled his back as he slowly dragged himself towards the curve of the hall and the voices.

 

“Didn’t work out in their favor though, did it. You see the number Sendak did on that one we got?” His heart stilled with the frost that chilled the words of the answering voice as they grew louder, their footsteps mingling with their conversation. Hunk’s nails bit into the flesh of his palm as he tightened his grip on the knife as he picked apart their words in his mind. A short snort from the gravel voice made him growl.

 

“Won’t be doing much now, will he,” he said with a sadistic chuckle. Waiting just at the turn of the hall, Hunk bit back the sour taste of anger as he listened, calculating their distance from where he stood by the sound of their voices. Their steps grew louder as they drew closer. The sharp tang of rust filled his mouth as Hunk bit his lip as he waited.

 

“You think they’ll fuck up the Mafia deal?” The lighter voice asked after a moment’s pause. Slowly, Hunk brought his left hand to the holster on his hip, smoothly unbuttoning the strap that kept the gun in place and pulled it from its carrier as he listened intently. Another hard peal of laughter from the man’s companion.

 

“How could they? Even if we don’t kill them when they come for their friend, they’d have to figure out that we’re shipping them out of the Port of Nagoya,” the sound of a hand clapping against a shoulder punctuated the air. “Showing up that far in our territory would be a suicide mission.”

 

Long shadows stretched past the corner Hunk hid behind, pausing at the juncture as if to suspend the moment in a solitary point of anticipation. A bead of sweat rolled lazily down Hunk’s temple, pulling a line of moisture over his tanned skin. Time stood still for a hair longer as he steadied himself before he tipped the temporal scales and threw himself around the corner. The grip of his gun struck against the back of one of the Akuma’s head as he smacked his palm against it to bring it down to meet his knee. 

 

“Hey!” The lilting voice of the other Yakuza was cut off as Hunk thrust his elbow upward, catching him below the jaw. A sick crack of teeth smacking together erupted from his mouth as his companion crumpled to the ground in a heap as he pressed his hands to his face. Twisting around in a deadly dance, Hunk spun around the man that was still standing, catching his blue gaze long enough to tighten his jaw. They were the color of the open sky on a spring day. He was behind the man by the time he drew the comparison to another set of cerulean eyes that he knew all too well. Before he could dwell on the similarity, he brought the bowie knife up to his throat and dragged a clean line across his throat. A soft, liquid gurgle bubbled out of his throat before he landed on his knees, pausing for just a second before falling face first to the ground.

 

Snotty moans pulled Hunk’s attention down to the gravel voiced man on the ground who was reaching a hand to a weapon tucked into the back of his jeans. The distant crack of a gun firing gave them both pause. Air caught in Hunk’s throat as his head whipped towards the sound as if he could see straight through to its cause. Two more shots followed before quiet settled over the hall. The man started to shuffle again in a vain attempt to use the disruption to his advantage. 

 

Hunk’s brown gaze fell back onto the Akuma, a distance dulling the shine that had been there only a moment before. He wasn’t sure how far into the warehouse he was, and how far he was from the rest of the Raion, but if they were the ones to fire those first shots, things had gone wrong. Fear gripped him and drove his arm as he aimed his pistol at the man on the ground.

 

“Hey man, don’t--” the man started to speak only to be cut off by two shots that caught him in the middle of his chest. Blood welled from the two holes as his head fell back, the life fading from his eyes before it’d even hit the ground. The garnet pool accumulating from both bodies spilled across the concrete and rolled idly towards Hunk, staining the soles of his boots as he stared down at the Akuma. Their gazes stared dully upwards at him, frozen forever in unending shock. 

 

“The Port of Nagoya,” he said under his breath as he knelt down, gently running a hand over the dead men’s eyes to pull their eyelids shut. His mind raced between the gunshots that still echoed in his ears and the information he’d learned. The Akuma were planning another deal there, and from the sounds of it, it involved the American Mafia. If they made it out of the warehouse, he would need to make sure Keith and the rest of the waka gashira knew.

 

_The Port of Nagoya_.

 

Hunk repeated the location like a mantra, letting the cadence of the port’s name calm the worry that was rolling through his limbs. Standing slowly from his position, he tightened his grips on the blood stained bowie knife and pistol as he pressed forward.

 

*******

 

Tiny sparks of electricity were tickling Lance’s palms as he followed behind Keith, his sense of duty sparring with his affection deep within his chest, leaving him bloodied and raw. He hadn’t even gotten a say in letting Hunk head off on his own, Keith stepping in with a curt nod and pulling him the opposite direction before he could try and make him change his mind. Now he stood in an empty hall, with his brooding oyabun, surrounded by painfully loud silence and unable to watch Hunk-- or any of the rest of his team’s-- backs. Lance hated being in confined spaces like the twisting metal hallway that never seemed to end.

 

And to make matters worse, he had to fight with a damn knife.

 

“He’ll be fine, you know.” Keith’s voice was so low, he wondered if he’d imagined it before the leader threw a look over his shoulder, amethyst eyes fixing on him in a fleeting glance. 

 

“I get it,” he continued, voice thin with a vulnerable softness as he turned back to face forward, his steps carrying him further into the building. “But he’s always been able to take care of himself.”Lance did his best to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that bitterly pointed out that Shiro had also always been able to take care of himself, until he couldn’t. The eeriness of the seemingly empty building was working his nerves, he told himself as he continued to watch Keith’s back as they pressed onward. 

 

His grip on his tantō felt wrong, and it felt too light as he tried to adjust the way he held it. Without a gun he felt completely useless. Growing up, Keith had always been the one that was better at hand-to-hand combat and knives. The jealousy had eaten away at him until he found out he could shoot ten targets in ten seconds from 100 feet away, and that was without a scope. Walking through the hall, the walls seemingly closing in around them as the silence playing tricks with his mind, Lance felt like that kid again that just couldn’t catch up to his future leader.

 

“Do you think we’re close?” He asked in an attempt to brush away the quiet that was trying to tempt him into dwelling on Hunk’s position. The answer he received came in the form of a hiss and a hand that stood up in the universal sign for “stop.” He bristled at the gesture. Ears straining to hear whatever discreet noice that had alerted Keith, he nearly ran into his back, stopping himself just short of his tensed shoulders.

 

“Did you hear something?” Lance’s voice was stiff after several seconds passed without any sounds. Keith lifted a single finger up to his lips as he turned his head just enough for him to see the gesture before he started to pad slowly forward. It wasn’t until he saw the black outlines of shadows against the wall ahead of them that he picked up the barely there whisper of rubber soles against the stone ground. His fingers curled tighter over the hilt of his blade as he tried to recall what little knife training he had, his heart thumping a hummingbird’s beat against his sternum. Keith continued to push forward, his steps quickening as he rushed to meet the Akuma ahead of them.

 

Then the all too familiar pop of gunfire rang over their heads. The sound rolled over his skin, dragging away his insecurities and leaving a completely different animal in its place. No matter the circumstance of that first shot, it meant his guns were now fair play. Though a bloom of fear burned in his chest as his mind raced to try and pinpoint where exactly they had come from, his blood raced as he dropped his tantō to the ground. Excitement and frustration blazed together, lighting his eyes as he pulled the uzis from the tan holsters that hung just under his arms. He barely registered Keith’s movement as he whipped his own handgun from its holster as he readied himself. 

 

The steps were louder now, the sound multiplying as they sped up, and three Akuma rounded the corner just seconds later. Lance’s first shot caught the one closest in the knee, knocking him down for the second shot that caught him between the eyes. The next shot wasn’t his own as a bullet rushed past his face, the air splitting around it and blowing against his face as it landed somewhere behind him. 

 

Another trio curled around the corner as Keith promptly shot the tallest of the group, the lead from his gun knocking him back as it hit his shoulder. Dodging the metal rain that was descending upon them, the two Raion moved around each other, one water and one smoke as they returned the gunfire. For each rival clansman that fell, another rounded the corner to take his place. It was the kind of set up that meant they were close. Lance felt the heavy determination emanating off Keith in waves as he came to the same realization. 

 

“Keith!” He yelled over the metallic crashing around them. 

 

Another shot and another spray of blood.

 

“What?” The oyabun yelled back, eyes not leaving the crowd ahead of them as he hit another in the stomach. Lance’s aim caught another in the hand, disrupting the shot he’d been lining up for the man beside him.

 

“Go on ahead, I’ll take care of these guys!” He felt the hesitation as Keith weighed his options. “I’ve got this, buddy. Shiro needs you.” 

 

The words were steadier than he felt as he tried to reassure his leader. His purple gaze fell on him as he looked away from the Akuma ahead them for the first time. The steel in them had softened and turned pliant with an appreciation that Lance hoped would go unsaid. There would be a time to be thankful, and that time wouldn’t be until they completed their mission. With a small nod of his head as if to offer one final affirmation for Keith to go on without him, he aimed back for the crowd that had thinned out to just five. As he sprayed them with a slew of bullets, Keith ran towards them, hugging the wall until the exact moment Lance pulled his finger off the trigger. 

 

The diversion had caused enough confusion that the oyabun was able to push past them, disappearing around the corner before they’d even had time to register what was happening. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, but Lance could have sworn he saw everything in slow motion as the Akuma puzzled over the disappearance of one of their enemies. One turned to follow, only to be pushed to the ground with the force of the bullet that caught him in the spine. 

 

“Oh no, friends,” Lance said as he widened his stance and brought both of his guns upwards to point toward the four that were left. “I’m not done with you yet.”

 

*******

 

A sense of knowing was digging deep into Keith’s bones as he walked alone towards where Shiro had to be. He was so close, he could feel it deep within his gut in the form of a gnawing sensation that picked at his insides like a buzzard. Loud shouts and the sound of gunshots ricocheted around him from where Lance had hung back to allow Keith a chance to explore further. Keith suspected it was more so the sharpshooter could run to check on Hunk once he’d cleared the Akuma from the hall. He’d seen the worry that had sharpened the steel in his blue eyes, and no matter how he’d tried to hide it behind a dulled mask of loyalty, it was there staring back at him like a beast waiting to be unleashed.

 

If Keith looked long enough, the beast twisted into something all too familiar to him.

 

Another crack bounced around him as he adjusted his grip on his handgun before rounding a sharp corner. A spasm rolled through his chest as his eyes landed on a a pair of imposing doors that interrupted the unending wall of dull metal. Choking back a gasp, he stumbled over himself as he made his way to them, shoulder igniting with pain as he shoved it against the heavy metal and pushed the door open.

 

The room was dark, lit only by stray rays of sunlight that streamed through a single window that sat in the middle of the wall opposite of him. Golden beams cast an ethereal glow over the otherwise mundane and empty room, the reach of its warming light stopping short of the figure that lay in a heap of limbs and bloodied clothing in the shadows to the far right of the room. Chunks of ice broke off in his veins as he stepped further into the deserted space, drawn towards the unmoving body as if pulled by an invisible string. 

 

His gaze flickered over Shiro, taking inventory of each wound that stood stark against his skin and tracing the line of his side in search of any sign of the rise and fall of breathing. A tremor reverberated through his legs as he finally stood in front of him, knocking them from beneath him as he fell before Shiro’s frame, dropping his gun to the floor with a sharp, metallic clatter. The saiko-komon’s eyelids fluttered and though his breath was shallow, it was there as it tickled over the skin of Keith’s wrist as he ghosted a hand down his cheek. Blood had long stained the white of his bangs to a deep rust, the thick crust of coagulation matting it together. The bruise from the image was a mottled black and purple with sickly green feathering its edges. 

 

Keith’s heart squeezed as his eyes dragged down towards the stump that was trapped between Shiro’s side and the cold ground, the weight of the loss settling onto his shoulders and turning his stomach. Heat climbed up his chest as it gagged him, the sound of his dry heaves filling the room. 

 

“Sendak does great work, doesn’t he?”

 

The voice twisted with a calm malice as it spoke, sending a thrill of vehemence through Keith as a feral snarl tore from his lips. Grabbing his handgun from the ground, he flipped his position around, still crouching protectively in front of Shiro as he pointed the muzzle at the intruder.

 

“You’ve got yourself a strong one.” Zarkon sauntered forward from the shadowed corner he had been waiting in, the tip of his sword scraping along the ground as he moved closer. His teeth gleamed with the sunlight as he smiled at Keith, looking down at him over his nose. Keith’s finger twitched over the trigger. “Even after Sendak sawed his arm off, he still wouldn’t tell us anything about you, little lion.” 

 

The harsh rasp of metal against concrete subsided as Zarkon stopped his advance, stopping in the middle of the room, obsidian eyes boring through Keith. 

 

“Maybe I’ll keep him for myself.”

 

Keith pulled the trigger, the loud explosion of the gun firing filling the air. Onyx held amethyst as Zarkon’s glare stayed trained on the Raion as the bullet flew past him and buried itself in the wall behind him with the deafening clang of iron against steel. In a flash of metal and sunlight, he lunged forward, sword raised above his head. Keith pushed off the ground, using the energy of his coiled muscled to throw himself forward. Meeting Zarkon in the space between them, he thrust his shoulder into the older man’s stomach and wrapped his arms around his middle as they crashed to the ground. As soon as he felt the impact of the Akuma’s back, Keith scrambled upward, grasping a handful of his black shirt within his left fist as he threw the right towards his face. The sound of bone crunched satisfyingly beneath the force of the gun that was still clutched in his hand. 

 

Zarkon grunted with the impact, quickly retaliating by thrusting the butt of his sword’s hilt into Keith’s temple, knocking away his senses and throwing him off his chest and onto the ground. The room spun around him as Keith pushed himself up again, not allowing himself to linger. Sardonic laughter darted around him, the sound wet with the blood that was spilling over Zarkon’s lips from his shattered nose. 

 

“I touched a nerve,” he spat, blood splashing over the grey ground as he sat up. A single strand of inky black hair fell from the slicked back plane atop his head and curved over his eyes. They were practically glowing as he stared at the younger leader, their intensity like that of a wolf setting its sight on its prey. Sunlight glinted against the tip of the sword as he pointed at Keith. “I’ll enjoy killing you, Kogane.” 

 

A sharp smile pulled the corners of Keith’s mouth up, baring his teeth. 

 

“Likewise.”

 

Leveling the gun, he fired another shot, growling as Zarkon swiftly dodged the bullet by rolling forward and quickly getting to his feet, advancing towards Keith. He fired again before the metal slipped from his fingers as Zarkon pushed against him, the flat of his sword pressing against the Raion’s chest as he was pushed into the wall. The impact stole the air from his lungs as the back of his head smacked the metal with an angry crack. His bruisde ribs screamed against the pressure as he pressed into him. Stars ate away his vision as he blindly grabbed for the sword that was crushing against his chest. Hot breath brushed the bridge of his nose as Zarkon pushed closer. The blade bit into Keith’s left palm, blood spilling between his fingers as he grasped it. His right found the hilt, the sudden change in momentum catching Zarkon by surprise as he wrenched it from his grasp. 

 

It clattered noisily as it skittered over the ground. Taking advantage of the moment, Keith brought his hands up behind the Akuma’s neck and pulled him down as he thrust his knee upwards into his chest. Stumbling backwards with a small gasp, Zarkon’s eyes were wild with an inhuman fury. Fixing him with matching acrimony, Keith’s fist caught the older leader’s jaw before he spun, throwing the force of it into a kick square to the Akuma’s chest. The power behind it sent him stumbling backwards, only stopping once his back landed heavily against the wall behind him.

 

Three sharp honks tore through the symphony of gasping breaths as Zarkon and Keith glared at each other from opposite ends of the room. A liquid warmth was spilling down his temple, painting his light skin a haunting crimson as his mauve gaze burned holes into the elder oyabun’s flesh. Time stretched between them as Keith’s fingers twitched over his push daggers, his handgun lying abandoned on the ground about six feet from where he stood. It felt as if a spell had fallen over the room as silence settled over the space. He could kill Zarkon now and be done with it. The end of this bloody war between their clans was within his grasp, all he had to do was reach out and grab it. His fingers trembled at the sheath again as he dragged in a calming breath. 

 

_Now was his chance._

 

Then one word shattered the trance over the room into a million jagged pieces.

 

“Keith.”

 

It was a whispered exhalation, a barely there utterance that dealt more damage than any of the blows Zarkon had landed. With just one murmur, Shiro had pulled Keith back down from his bloodthirsty rage. Lightning quick, the oyabun’s fingers closed over the three daggers on his thigh, each handle slotting neatly between them. The first he threw buried itself deep within the flesh of Zarkon’s thigh, eliciting nothing more than a pained grunt from the man. Keith let loose the second dagger almost as soon as the first had made its mark, this one tearing through the top of his shoulder and pinning the fabric of his shirt to the wall behind him. With one final flick of his wrist, the third dagger twisted through the air and landed in the wall just to the right of the Akuma leader’s face, cutting a jagged line into his cheek and ear as it passed. A seamless veil of garnet rolled down Zarkon’s cheek.

 

Turning on his heel, Keith faced where Shiro lay against the ground, his eyes still shut and his eyebrows drawn together as he grimaced. Another breath carried his name over the full ridge of his saiko-komon’s lips. 

 

“Do you not intend to kill me, lion?” Zarkon’s voice was filled with black humor as he watched Keith shove his hands under Shiro’s armpits so he could pull him up into a seated position. Ignoring the taunt and the fire it ignited in his chest, Keith knelt next to his best friend’s unconscious body and pulled his left arm over his shoulders so he could use the strength of his legs to push them both up. Grasping the arm with his left hand, ignoring the sting from the deep cut in his palm, and wrapping his right arm around his waist, he supported his weight as he slowly made his way to the door. 

 

“You’re a coward,” the Akuma roared as Keith got to the doorway, reveling in the way the Raion oyabun paused. “Just like your father.” 

 

Turning just enough to fix Zarkon with a glare brimming with disaster and ruin, Keith’s face twisted into a look of unadulterated fury. A beat passed filled with nothing but their labored breathing as wars waged in the silence between them. Keith was the first to speak.

 

“I’ll be back for those,” he spat before he turned back towards the exit, Shiro leaning heavily into his side, his head pressing into the crook of his neck and his labored breaths tickling his skin. 

 

It wasn’t just a threat, but a promise. Acid twisted in his stomach as he dragged them both through the twisting hall towards the van that would finally take them home.

 

He would make good on his word. They weren’t finished yet.

 

*******************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOULD Y'ALL BELIEVE I WROTE THAT LEADER TALK THREE DAYS AGO AND THEN TODAY WE GOT FOOTAGE OF LEADER TALK THAT IS BASICALLY THE SAME. I can see the future, y'all XD 
> 
> Anyway, as always, thank you guys so much for reading! It really means a lot that anyone would put time into reading this kinda huge, kinda intense beast that ITTB is turning into. 
> 
> If you'd like to see BTS, sneak peeks and random fandom musings, follow me on twitter @odmwrites
> 
> YAAAAALL CHECK OUT THE AMAZING COMMISSION FROM PRINCE FOR ITTB! I'm seriously so in love, he captured exactly what I wanted and couldn't be any happier :) Not to mention, he was a dream to work with. Go give him some love!
> 
> [Twitter ](https://twitter.com/PRllNCE/status/922526652344782848)   
>  [Tumblr](http://prllnce.tumblr.com/post/166717037675/commission-for-theolddarkmachine-of-their-fic)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND I'M BACK! Honestly, I'm never gonna wonder if any of my chapter plans are gonna be long enough or not, because they always end up being sooooo long. Oops. Anyway, fun drinking game: Take a drink each time I utilize repetition. ~~Haha, don't do that. You might die.~~
> 
>  **Helpful terms:**  
>  Sumiyoshi-kai- The second largest Yakuza family. Rivals of the Yamaguchi-gumi family.  
> Shinku no Raion- Keith's clan. Means Crimson Lions. A clan in the Sumiyoshi-kai family.  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.  
> Kobun- Clan members

The hospital room was shrouded in darkness and filled with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the solitary sound of Shiro’s heartbeat. Keith sat beside the bed, body slouched against the hardened synthetic cushioning of a generic recliner, eyes veiled with the shadows of exhaustion. It had been five days since the rescue, and of those 120 hours, Keith had slept a total of 15 of them, most of them coming only when his body forcibly shut itself down long enough to recharge to get him through another day of sitting at Shiro’s side. 

 

Adrenaline and pure, unadulterated fear had fueled him through the first 24 hours as he and the rest of his waka gashira had sat in the too bright waiting room. They were battery acid in his veins as their energy made him buzz against the confines of his skin as he counted the minutes that passed. Each tick of the clock had been another boxcutter between his ribs as the surgeons worked on Shiro, the blades digging deeper and deeper into his skin until he felt he’d bleed out. That same volatile combination of acid and blades was what had caused him to push Shiro’s doctor against a wall when he’d finally emerged and told him only family was allowed to visit in the ICU. 

 

_I am his fucking family_ , he’d spat, words nothing but razorblades and barbed wire as he’d pressed his forearm into the man’s throat.

 

Keith rubbed a tired hand over his eyes to push down the vision of the doctor’s purpling face as he’d stared at him in fear. After being pulled off by Hunk and Pidge, Lance had pulled the surgeon to the side flashing an apologetic smile and a wad of money that the doctor quickly pocketed before begrudgingly leading them towards where Shiro was. 

 

_You’ll have full visitation rights_ , he’d stuttered as he’d eyed Keith as if he was a feral beast before he disappeared. Each time he’d returned since, he had given the oyabun that very same stare as if he wasn’t sure Keith would be able to keep himself from attacking again.

 

Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure either.

 

The exhaustion and fear had worked his nerves until they were nothing but raw, frayed ends that had Keith constantly dangling over the edge of his own sanity. It was the exact reason he found himself alone now, having already lashed out at his companions as if they had anything to do with Shiro’s dormant condition. Echoes of their raised voices still rang in his ears as he’d spat acid filled nonsense, seeking only to destroy whatever it was his words could hit. It didn’t come as a shock when they finally stormed out, one-by-one, each throwing one last lingering look over their shoulder before their forms disappeared through the door. He knew they kept at least one in the waiting room at all times in case any trouble should arise, but none of them had returned since, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts and the quiet of Shiro’s dimly lit room.

 

The silence was deafening the longer he sat there, watching the rise and fall of his saiko-komon’s breath and keeping track of the sharp spikes on the heart monitor.

 

_It’s just a matter of waiting now_ , the doctor had explained when Keith had asked why he still hadn’t awoken. There was no way of knowing for certain what traumas Shiro had been through, x-rays and CT scans only showing the physical damage. It was the mental traumas that kept him deep within sleep as his body attempted to protect him from the agony he had been through. So Keith waited, fear and anger forming a deadly combination in his veins as he sat dutifully at Shiro’s side keeping time by nothing else than the beeping that echoed off the bare white walls.

 

“C’mon, Takashi,” he breathed, placing a careful hand over his best friend’s, trying to ignore how cool it felt under his touch. “Come back to me.”

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

His own heart beat painfully in his chest as Shiro continued to lay as still as the dead, no other proof that he was alive other than the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. Keith’s vision started to swim in and out of focus as he started to count the breaths, the room falling way around him as he allowed himself to fall into a trance. 

 

_Rise. Fall._ One.

 

_Rise. Fall._ Two.

 

_Rise. Fall._ Three.

 

In a perfect world, Keith would never understand the kind of oppressive weight that came from waiting. It was a heavy stone on his shoulders, draining his energy and filling him with all the thoughts of things unsaid that stood between him and his best friend. His fingers tightened around the cool hand under his as he bit back the frustrated sound that was quickly rising in his throat. If only there was something he could do. He’d kick and scream and kill whoever he needed to if it meant he could pull Shiro from deep within himself. 

 

“Come back to me.” The words were fragile and cracked as they dripped from his lips like glass shards.

 

The sharp rap of knuckles against the door startled him as he jumped back from the bed, spine hitting the back of the seat as he pulled his hand away from Shiro’s.

 

“Now what did you do to the hospital staff?” A familiar voice asked, accent lilting over the words filled with curiosity and subtle humor. As his heart calmed, Keith couldn’t stop the weak smile that tugged on the corners of his lips as he turned his attention to the doorway. 

 

“Nothing they won’t recover from,” he rumbled, eyes appraising the red-haired man that was striding into the room. It had been years since Keith had seen Coran. After Daiki’s death, the former saiko-komon had become a weak shadow of what he had once been, having lost the sun that had made him strong. He’d offered only to stay with the clan long enough to help settle the new oyabun into his position before stepping aside for Shiro to take his place. The request of a mutual excommunication from the clan was one Keith was more than happy to give him as one of his first duties as the Shinku no Raion’s head. Coran had earned the peace after all he had given to the clan, and all he had lost. When he’d last walked out of the temple, leaving nothing behind but a weary smile cast over his shoulder as he went, the older man had looked tired. The kind of tired that turned men into card houses that could be knocked down by the first breeze. Keith hadn’t recognized the man that had left. He had become a perfect stranger, only familiar thanks to the comfortable foreign tone of his voice and his copper colored hair.

 

Standing before him now, he almost looked as if he were whole again, standing taller against the the hospital room backdrop. Though grey tarnished the sides of his ruddy hair, his azure eyes had regained a hint of the spark that they’d once carried when he’d stood side-by-side with his father.The mere sight of him mad Keith feel like a child again, looking up at his father’s righthand man with admiration as he waited for Coran to tell him what to do. For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that nothing had changed, and that his father would still come striding in with all the answers that would lead his lost soul.

 

“I’m sure they would beg to differ. That doctor about cried when I let him know who I was here to see,” Coran replied with a small chuckle, stopping just on the opposite side of Shiro’s bed. It sounded strained, almost as if the older man had questioned at the last second if laughter was welcome in the room. Keith watched as he looked sadly over the sleeping Raion between them, noting the way the small laugh died on his lips and his breath turned sharp when his gaze landed on the stump of Shiro’s arm.

 

“They tried to keep me from him.” He said it as if it was the only reason he had needed, all too aware of how it would sound to the former saiko-komon. At one point he might have cared. The ticks of a heart beating filled the silence as they both waited for the other to speak over the building intensity between them. It was the type of quiet that preceded a lecture, filled to the brim with a calmness befitting the moments before a storm.

 

“I heard about the rescue,” Coran finally said, taking the initiative as he turned his attention back to the oyabun. Keith could tell by the way his shoulders tensed that he could see the dark circles under his eyes. They stood so angrily against the pallor of his skin that even he had started to avoid reflective surfaces to keep from seeing them. He wasn’t sure if it was the pitying look that they warranted or the words the ex-Raion had spoken that put him on edge, pushing more acid into his mouth and coating his teeth with it. His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“You know, when you’d asked to leave the clan, I had been under the impression you were cutting ties with everyone.” Keith’s voice was flat as the terseness of his exhaustion turned the words into blades. Another pregnant pause stretched before them as Coran sighed, raising his palms in the universal sign of surrender.

 

“The last time Shiro came to the hospital instead of just being seen by the doctors at the temple was when I brought him here just after I found him,” he said, speaking slowly as if Keith was an animal he was trying to calm. “I was still listed as his emergency contact in the system, and I saw Lance just now in the hall.” 

 

It was a perfectly good explanation, yet he still felt the adrenaline stirring low in his gut, filling his body with the urge to fight. Keith gave a curt nod, not trusting himself to speak for fear his tone would be filled with the fangs he’d been unable to sheath since arriving at the hospital. 

 

“You two always were inseparable,” Coran continued, a ruddy curl falling over his forehead as he looked fondly between Shiro and Keith, seeing them as they once had been and not as they were now. To an outsider, he may have even looked like the father neither of them had anymore. A small shudder in his chest caused his breath to hitch ever so slightly. They both ignored the sound it made over the sound of the machinery attached to their companion.

 

“That’s what it means to be a part of the Shinku no Raion. Even now, we would protect you if you wanted it.” Eyebrow quirked, he watched Coran like a guard dog waiting for any false move that would justify an attack. Coran’s shoulders tensed, alerting him to the fact that something was on the older man’s mind, and the fanged beast within his chest already knew it didn’t want to hear what it was he had to say.

 

“What you did wasn’t protection, Keith. It was revenge.” His truth revealed itself in those three words, shining a spotlight on the monster that had nestled itself deep within Keith’s skin and controlled his every move since Shiro had been taken. It was an ugly, snarled thing that had bred nothing but fury into his veins. Even now, he felt it snapping at the confines of his ribcage. He tried to ignore the sting of betrayal as he imagined what his waka gashira must have told him. 

 

_I don’t even recognize him anymore._

 

_He’s a monster._

 

_He’s a killer._

 

“They haven’t seen my vengeance yet,” he snarled, thrusting the sting of the imagined words into his voice. Keith’s tone was clipped, leaving no room for anything else to be said. Lance, Pidge and Hunk had all already made their cases on the same point. It was what had created the divide between them before he’d forcibly pushed them away. There was nothing that could be said now, the monster already had his mind made up. With the location Hunk had gathered at the warehouse, he would be able to end this war once and for all. Zarkon had a debt, and he would pay it with his life. His thoughts were made of metal and blood as he glared up at the former Raion, jaw set in defiance. 

 

“Just,” Coran’s voice faltered. “Don’t do anything crazy.” Worry nestled deep in his tone as he dropped his gaze. That one word made Keith’s hackles raise. _Crazy_. Shoulders tensing and nails cutting into his palms as his fingers curled into fists, he glared at the older man, unable to push back the angry fires that were raging within him like hatred powered furnaces. 

 

“Crazy would be letting the Akuma get away with what they did to him.” The words were shrapnel, looking for the soft flesh of any that lay in their way. Hidden within the depths of his anger, he knew his fury was misplaced, only lashing out at Coran for being the only person there to receive it, but he couldn’t stop himself as he coated his tongue with acid.

 

“Daiki would not have wanted this. He would not have wanted the Raion to fall victim to your revenge.” Coran’s statement was a well aimed arrow that landed its mark. It burrowed deep inside Keith’s heart as if meant to destroy, seizing his breath as he stared at the ex-clansman just on the other side of Shiro’s bed. Keith knew how Daiki would have done things. He could always feel his father’s shadow looming over him like a phantom reminder of everything he needed to be. Everything he did was with Daiki’s legacy in mind, but this was different. The Akuma had already taken someone he loved from him once. He would not allow them to take another. Lashing out like a dog backed into a corner, he growled out his response.

 

“My father is dead, and because of his inability to finish things, Shiro nearly was too.” It was all venom as he spoke. “I will do what needs to be done to protect what is mine, and any who disagree are not welcome here.” 

 

The dismissal was harsh, hanging over their heads like a guillotine as the oyabun averted his glare down to the man that lay between them, trying to find anything that would anchor the rage rising dangerously behind his sternum. Keith could feel the way Coran’s gaze bore into him as he trained his eyes on the IV nestled in Shiro’s arm. He didn’t need to look to see the way the older man’s mouth would be twisted downward in thought, worried disapproval muddying the blue of his eyes. It was the same look he’d grown all too familiar with during his early teen years when he went through what Shiro had deemed as Keith’s Rowdy Years. The burn of his concerned displeasure was hot on his skin as the steady beat of Shiro’s heart filled the divide that stood between them. Keith knew he would regret the way he spoke later, regretted it already as he heard the resigned sigh and the sound of Coran turning to leave. Tears stung the corner of his eyes as he stared, unblinking, at the tubing that tethered Shiro to saline and pain killers. The older man had to understand the feeling of the dying star that was filling him with radiation. Keith had seen the way Coran had mutated before their eyes after his father’s death. 

 

He must understand why he had to do what needed to be done.

 

“Be careful, Keith,” the older man said, voice thin as paper as he spoke from the doorway. “Love can turn people into monsters as easily as hate.” Coran’s footsteps faded with the words as he left the room, leaving Keith alone with nothing more than the sound of the heart monitor and his own breathing.

 

“It’s too late,” he whispered to the empty room. Time passed indefinitely, lost on him as he replayed Coran’s words over and over in his mind. They were angry spirits sitting on his shoulders, their claws sunk deep into his shoulders as they pushed down into him in an attempt to crush him into the ground. 

 

Keith had been born into a world of monsters. Had been trained by the former saiko-komon’s own hand to be one himself. It was an inevitability that he would become one, the certainty of it as obvious as the color of the sky or the changing of the seasons. All he had needed was a catalyst for him to shed the humanity his father had believed in so deeply. His breath hitched as he ruminated on the four letter spark that had lit the fuse.

 

_Love._

 

Whether it had been hours or minutes that passed, he was unsure as his eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion and the weight of his revenge. Sighing deeply, he lowered his forearms against the mattress of Shiro’s bed as if pushed down by the burden of his thoughts. Dropping his head onto the crook of his arm, ear pressed into his flesh, he let his gaze take stock of his best friend’s sleeping form before settling on the fingers just inches from his elbow. Glimpses of memories past danced over his vision as he saw those very same fingertips pressed to the bow of his lips as he chastely kissed them. 

 

Those same fingers digging into his hips, hard enough to bruise.

 

Those fingers caressing the sharp peak of his cheek.

 

Keith’s breath wobbled as he blew it out with an unsteady huff, his eyes fluttering shut at the thought of the ghost touches. _Shiro would wake up soon_ , he thought to himself as the room started to slip away into darkness. 

 

_He needed to wake up soon, and when he did, he would be okay. Then I can kill them all._

 

As sleep finally took him, wrapping her strong feathered hold around his shoulders, he timed his breathing by the digital ticks of Shiro’s heart.

 

*******

 

_Footsteps echoed under the awning of the temple as Shiro made his way around the garden like a jungle cat stalking its prey, his eyes hungry as they flickered from the two bodies sparring in the courtyard and the path before him. Lined around the open hallway, standing shoulder-to-shoulder were clansmen that watched the test of strength taking place before them. Copper and onyx twisted around each other, throwing fists and dodging moves expertly as Keith and Coran fought. The latter’s hits designed as a test, while the former’s made up its answers._

 

_If it had been a normal day, it would be Shiro in Coran’s place, enjoying the way his best friend’s eyes would drag over his body as he planned where he’d strike next. On a normal day, he’d be the one that threw his arms around the future leader, ignoring the shock that would run over his ribs at the contact. Normally, Shiro would be the one on the receiving end of a the cocky smirk that pulled the corner of Keith’s mouth up in the most tantalizing way._

 

_If it were a normal day, he’d even imagine what it would feel like to throw Keith onto the ground and kiss that smirk off of his face._

 

_He concentrated on each footstep as he watched the way the sun glinted off the sheen of sweat that coated Keith’s bare torso as he threw another punch. Shiro’s mouth went dry as he imagined the way it must be rolling down the track of his pulse and pooling in the dip of his collarbones._

 

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

 

_Today was Keith’s final test. The one that would prove he was ready to take on the responsibilities of an oyabun. Though he wouldn’t take his spot at the head of the clan until Daiki stepped down, he’d now make calls about jobs the clan went on and headed meetings when the oyabun was away. It was the first step towards becoming everything he was meant to be. Shiro’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the way Keith’s muscles rolled under his skin as he sparred with Coran._

 

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

 

_He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bundle of nerves, sapping the anxious waves of emotion that had been rolling off his best friend that morning. It was what kept him walking his circles around the courtyard, unable to stand in line like the kobun that watched the display. Whether they were uninterested, or didn’t even consider the possibility that Keith could fail, Shiro couldn’t tell as all their faces were fixed in blank masks as the pair continued to dance around each other before them. They didn’t truly understand the weight of the test they were privy to._

 

_What looked like any other sparring match, just a saiko-komon training with the next oyabun, could knock everything down as easily as a tempest with a house of cards. Failure would mean excommunication. No clan of the Sumiyoshi-Kai could be led by a leader that didn’t pass, nor would they be allowed to remain within it. Shiro was sure Daiki wouldn’t go so far as to cut ties completely with his son, but Keith would be forced to leave the temple and his father would start grooming a new successor to take his place. A frozen hand gripped his heart at the mere thought of the halls void of Keith’s presence. It was his unfailing smile and liquid eyes that he thought of whenever his mind danced over the word, home. It was the only one Shiro truly knew, having lost his so early. Without him, the temple would lose the one thing that had kept him from being lost. Failure couldn’t be an option. As his breath quickened in his lungs, he counted another set of steps._

 

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

 

_Flashes of his best friend and the man that had taken him in flickered in the gaps of the clansmen and their heavy breathing started to fill the air. A wry smile had twisted Keith’s face into a look of sheer determination as he dodge a kick from Coran, the force of it bringing him close enough to his charge for him to catch the saiko-komon’s wrist and twisting it into a painful looking angle. The sickly rust taste of blood filled Shiro’s mouth as his canine bit deep into his lip as he watched the display, the rhythm of his steps faltering with his anticipation. Keith’s gaze shot up to meet his own through the space between the kobun, a full smile splitting his concentration in two as he held Shiro’s stare. Warmth spread through his chest, its stifling heat nearly choking him as he was blinded by that grin filled with nothing but starlight._

 

_Shiro wasn’t sure when he’d started to feel the shift in their friendship. It had been a slow change, so gradual in its transformation that he hadn’t noticed the sun that burnt behind his ribs until he’d already been left charred. He wasn’t even entirely sure it had completely finished metamorphosing, the plates around his heart still shifting so slowly that he ached with it. All he knew was that everything about Keith was blinding, and yet he didn’t want to look away._

 

_Time stretched for what felt like an eternity as his steel eyes held Keith’s mauve, the swollen star trapped within his ribcage bordering on a supernova._

 

_Neither of them noticed Coran move until Keith landed on his back in the dirt with a thud and a shocked cry. Shiro’s fingers curled into his palm as if his fist could do anything to help the lean body gasping for air on the ground. The thought didn’t stop him from taking a step toward the wall of kobun that stood between him and his best friend, but the heavy hand that landed on his shoulder did._

 

_“Now you’re just the person I was looking for,” a commanding voice said at his back as a thumb dug into his shoulder blade. Shiro felt himself tense beneath the warm palm as he turned to face Daiki. The man’s smile was oxymoronic against the assertiveness of his tone as he loosened his grip and allowed his hand to fall from where it rested as he nodded his head towards the temple’s doors._

 

_“Let’s go for a walk, Shiro.” The command was hidden behind the thin veil of a request as the oyabun started to walk before letting Shiro respond at all. He bit his tongue as he cut his eyes from Daiki’s retreating frame to the match in the courtyard, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw Keith back on his feet. The solid sound of a fist against skin saw him off as he followed his leader through the oak wood doors, stepping out into the clearing that surrounded the temple._

 

_Soft, blush colored buds created a pastel backdrop behind Daiki as he stood waiting for Shiro in the clearing, smile warm and expectant. The cherry blossom trees were in full bloom, standing around the temple like flowered guardians, only moving with the wind that carried its petals over the green grass stretching below them. They were one of Shiro’s favorite things about the temple. Even when they weren’t in bloom, there was something to protective about the way the trees stood, bowed slightly inwards towards the building as if it was the sun._

 

My dad planted them after mom died _, Keith had once told him, whispering conspiratorially as they’d sat on the roof on yet another night spent gazing up at the stars._ They’re supposed to remind the clan that life is beautiful, but fragile.

 

_They were beautiful in their meaning, if a bit ominous in their setting. Yakuza knew all too well about the fragility of life, whether they were the ones taking it or having it taken. At the time, he hadn’t realized the significance of the symbolism, only appreciating the beauty of the trees and the purple gaze that admired them. Now he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as his mind drew back towards Keith standing in the ring of clansmen with his chest heaving and fight burning brightly in his eyes._

 

_“Our boy is doin’ pretty good, huh?” Daiki asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his obsidian gaze fixed on Shiro as if he was lifting his thoughts straight from his head. The oyabun’s smile only grew wider as he watched the younger man slowly nod in agreement, eyes twitching towards the temple as if he could see through the walls to the boy he referred to. It was a quick shift, a lost moment before he returned his gaze to Daiki’s glowing form as they exchanged appraising looks._

 

_Everyone always talked about how much Keith favored the mother he’d never known. Having seen a photo of Hikaru, he couldn’t deny the resemblance that was set in the violet of their eyes and the sharp cuts of their cheekbones. Yet as Daiki looked down on him, the sunlight highlighting the flecks of white in his black hair and his mouth quirked upwards, he couldn’t help but think Keith was very much his father’s son. It was more than just a resemblance, but it showed in the way he carried himself, emulating the kind yet strong demeanor that made Daiki such a great leader._

 

_“You know, I was worried when Coran brought you to us,” he said thoughtfully, referring to that night all those years ago that Shiro had lost his parents. The sudden change of topic left his head spinning as he tried to catch up. Daiki’s eyes shone with the light of some inside joke that the younger man wasn’t a part of, and something about it made his chest tighten._

 

_“This life isn’t for everyone, especially after all you went through.” A somber timbre rooted itself in his words as his mouth bent sadly. He dropped his hand on Shiro’s shoulder again, giving it another squeeze. The touch, meant to comfort, twisted a knife of panic deep in his gut as he tried to piece together what it was that Daiki was trying to say._

 

_“He had a lot of convincing to do for me to believe that you joining the Raion would be good for you, but he was certain we could help you.” Breath blew through his teeth in the form of a chuckle as his hand slipped from where it sat and he started to walk the path around the temple. “Imagine my surprise when it was you that ended up helping us.”_

 

_“I’m not sure I follow, sir.” Shiro stutter stepped as he followed, confusion thick in his words and veins._

 

_“Did you know Keith wasn’t much of a kids kid?” He paused for just a second, changing his mind almost instantly as to whether or not he needed an answer. “Granted, he didn’t have too many options for friends in the clan, but he never really got along with those he had. Didn’t really get along with anyone to be honest. But then you came around, and boy, could that kid not stop trying to figure you out.”_

 

_Husky laughter filled the space Shiro kept between them, listening to his leader’s words as the blistering heat in his chest created a vacuum that crushed his lungs. Trying to drag air into the crumpled muscle, he concentrated on his steps, measuring his breaths against their rising number._

 

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

 

_“You really got him out of his shell, Shiro.” His name was wrapped with fondness as Daiki spoke it. It was the same kind of tenderness his own parents had filled the syllables of his name with, causing his heart to swell with admiration for the man._

 

_“I’m sure he’s just stubborn and wasn’t used to people telling him no,” Shiro laughed, ignoring the way his voice rasped with the dueling affections for the leader and his son. The retort earned him a bark of mirth, Daiki’s shoulders shaking with it as they started another lap around the temple. He watched as the older man shook his head._

 

_“While he is quite the stubborn ass, I don’t think that’s quite it.” Silence preoccupied the air, punctuated by nothing but the occasional rustle of grass beneath their feet as they walked. Several moments passed before he spoke again, his strong voice filling the clearing with sincerity._

 

_“Your parents would be proud of the man you’ve grown to be.”_

 

_Shiro’s reaction was immediate as he bit down on the bitter taste of sorrow, imagining what his parents would have been like if they could see him now. Would they have supported the life he’d become a part of? The very same that had ripped them away from him? What would his father think of the clan that had taken him in and taught him everything he knew from his fighting skills to the philosophies of their blood soaked compassion? What would his mother think of the lean boy with the unruly black waves and galaxy filled eyes?_

 

_“And I couldn’t have asked for a better saiko-komon for my son.” The sentiment interrupted his string of thought, thick with implication as they kept to their path. Pink petals blew over the breeze, dotting the air around them as Shiro tried to digest the second meaning that had stoked the fires in his chest. Daiki’s onyx gaze sparkled as he flashed a knowing look over his shoulder. Shiro’s mouth opened and closed, arguments dying on the tip of his tongue as he tried to think of anything to say in return. Anything at all that might counter the underlying current of his statement._

 

He’s just my best friend.

 

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

 

I don’t lo--

 

_Loud, raucous cheers stilled the lies that were running through his mind as the joyous sound carried over the roof of the temple. The elated noise marked the end of Keith’s test, and the end of his and Daiki’s conversation as the oyabun continued to walk ahead of Shiro back towards the temple._

 

_“Let’s go congratulate our boy, Shiro,” his voice carried back towards the stunned kobun, dancing around him like the blossoms in the wind. Shiro’s pulse continued to ricochet within his veins as he began to follow, throwing his concentration back onto counting his steps in an attempt to calm it._

 

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

 

Left foot. _Beep._

 

Right foot. _Beep._

 

Left foot. _Beep._

 

Right--

 

_***_

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

Sharp, digital intonations cut through the haze that had settled over Shiro, pushing everything else deep within an inky black pool. Trapped between memories and an unsettling darkness that chilled him to his core, he would occasionally catch low rumblings that sounded both unbearably close and impossibly distant. 

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

One voice stood out amongst the rest, cutting through the shadows and roaring over all else. Each time he’d heard it, he’d fought against the ropes of consciousness that held him trapped within the darkness, calling out for the one person he so desperately wanted to see.

 

_Keith._

 

Shiro repeated the name like a mantra, clutching the syllable to his chest as he worked against the hissing blackness that continued to drag him back down each time he’d made his way close to the surface.

 

_Keith. Keith. Keith._

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

Falling into unconsciousness had been a slow and calming thing, his heart slowing and his vision fading until there was nothingness, just pieces of memories, darkness and _his_ name.

 

_Keith. Keith. Keith._

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

Waking, in comparison, was much more violent. It started with an ice like freeze in his lungs that created an ache so deep it felt as if the space the muscle should have been had been excavated completely. Sharp static rolled over his limbs, stinging his flesh as it concentrated itself in his right arm. Bright flashes of light sparked against the darkness as he crawled against the crushing weight of the shadows that had held him down for so long.

 

It was with a painful gasp for air that Shiro finally opened his eyes.

 

Beep. Beep. Beep.

 

Welcomed by the the staccato cadence of his heartbeat, kept by the machine by his bed, he fought to drag air into his lungs as he frantically searched his surroundings for a sign of where he was. Plastic tickled his nose as the tubing of the cannula stretched across his face shifted with his movement as Shiro tried to push himself further up into the pillows behind his head. Bags of saline and unmarked liquids hung next to the monitor keeping track of his heart, connected to his arm by more tubing and long needles buried into the vein of his left arm. 

 

Moving to push himself upwards with his right arm to avoid jostling the wiring, he felt himself falter, falling back into the pillows as the mattress was met with the nothing where his hand should have been. Nausea rolled through his stomach as he tried again, praying to feel the sensation of the paper like sheets underneath his body and only feeling the sharp static that was buzzing where his elbow should have been. 

 

His breathing was deafening in his own ears as he looked down at the stump that peeked out just below the hospital gown he was in. Its blunt edge was covered in white gauze, ending just above where the crook of his arm would be. Then it all came back in a crash of memories that blinded him.

 

_The shattering pain of metal against his hand, cracking it apart from the inside like it was nothing but glass._

 

_The angry burn of heated iron pressing into his skin, sizzling as the flesh bubbled around the brand._

 

_The unexplainable agony of a saw’s teeth biting into his muscle as it tore his arm from his body._

 

A whole new type of fear grew within him as moisture stung his eyes and sobs blocked his airways. Shiro could still see the sinister edge that sharpened Zarkon’s smile as he watched Sendak have his way with him. He could still hear the laughter as the Akuma entertained themselves with his pain. The skin behind his ear was still warm with the acrid breath of Sendak’s words as he’d whispered the horrors he had planned for him, and for Keith.

 

His jaw screamed out against the pressure as he ground his molars together against the phantom sensations. Short breaths lined up with the quickening beat of his heart as he fought to escape the terror rushing through him. 

 

_They would do anything to ruin him. Anything to Keith. He had to warn them. He had to--_

 

A soft hum pulled his senses down to one singular point by his left hip where he noticed the unruly black waves and angled jaw for the first time.

 

“Takashi,” Keith’s voice was nothing more than a whisper as he sighed and pushed his face further into his forearm. “Stay with me, Takashi.” 

 

The monitor picked up the stutter in his chest as he took in his best friend’s sleeping form just a mere inches from his fingertips. 

 

_Keith was there. He was safe._

 

Shiro allowed himself to trace his profile with his silver gaze, struggling to count the freckles that spread over the bridge of his nose in the dark room. Keith’s breathing was even as he slept, the beat so steady that Shiro began to time his own by the rise and fall of his back until his heart rate slowed and the ache in his lungs settled. The oyabun sighed his name once more as he pushed the upper half of his body into the mattress, his elbow meeting Shiro’s thigh with a soft prod. 

 

“Keith,” he tried to say, voice so hoarse it barely came out as more than a rasp. Frustration drew his eyebrows together as he tried to swallow enough saliva to wet his throat so he could speak. 

 

All he wanted to see was the deep violet of his eyes, desperate to get lost in anything else besides the ghost pains and residual fear that were nipping at the borders of his consciousness. 

 

“Keith,” he tried again as he stretched the fingertips of his left hand out towards the sleeping man and only succeeding in brushing the soft curl of hair that had fallen over his brow. _He was so close._ Ignoring the uncomfortable pull of the needle in his skin, Shiro pushed his reach further until he felt the heat of his best friend’s skin on his palm and the soft brush of his hair between his fingers. He was rewarded with a soft sigh as Keith pressed up into the touch, eyes fluttering open as his nose found the juncture of his wrist and his lips ghosted over the blue tracks of his veins. Shiro felt himself tremble with the touch, watching as the moment froze around them, the kiss tickling his skin. 

 

Then sharp amethyst stared up at him before Keith pushed himself back into the seat and away from his grasp. His whimper over the sudden loss of contact was disappeared beneath the sound of his own name.

 

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice was sandpaper, sleep turning his tone into grit as his wide eyes stared at him. Fear sparkled over the mauve as he reached a shaking hand towards his, hesitant as if he was scared any touch would prove that the awakened man before him was just a mirage. The sun caged by his ribs roared to life, its flames licking his insides as Shiro held the stare before he let himself smile. 

 

“Hi,” he rasped. It was nothing more than a single syllable, barely there as he pushed it through the thickness of his throat and passed his teeth, but its effect was extraordinary. The legs of the chair screeched against the linoleum as Keith stood, a hand grasping Shiro’s as he leant into his space, reaching the other hand up to caress his cheek before pressing their foreheads together. A drop of moisture rolled down the tip of his nose and landed against Shiro’s, creating a slick seal between their skin.

 

Soft sobs shook Keith’s shoulders as he kept them pressed together, his grasp feather soft as if he worried that Shiro would break. He let him cry, pushing his forehead against Keith’s and breathing heavily to bite back the stone that had swollen in his throat. A cruel voice at the back of his mind warned him that it could all be a dream, something conjured by his mind to ease the suffering. _If it is just a dream, what a sweet one it is_ , he thought against the stray voice as he nuzzled into the touch.

 

“I knew you’d come back to me.” The words were shaky and waterlogged, thick with the emotion that had overwhelmed the smaller man. Warmth was crawling lazily through Shiro’s veins as he breathed him in, smelling the cheap hospital coffee on his breath and the sharp tang of the antiseptic that had sunk into his clothes. This close, all he could see were the black lashes that swept against Keith’s cheeks, soaked with the tears that were falling from his eyes. Shiro went to card his fingers through the dark waves of his hair only to be met by the stinging reminder of their absence. His anger left him in a single hiss of bitterness, the sound pushing Keith back. 

 

Following the line of Shiro’s glare as he stared down at the stump, he made a strangled noise. 

 

“There wasn’t--” he stopped, eyes crushed shut as he dragged in a steadying breath. “There wasn’t anything we could do for it.” Keith remained standing with Shiro’s hand still clutched in his grasp, both ignoring the moisture that still slicked his cheeks. Even in the dim room, he could see the bruise like marks that were spread beneath Keith’s eyes. 

 

What he would give to be free of the wires that kept him from wiping them away. 

 

When he opened them again, Shiro couldn’t help but notice how much older he looked, an unknown burden heavy on his shoulders. 

 

“What happened?” More gravel as Shiro spoke around the dryness in his throat. He watched as Keith’s mouth turned downward in a near snarl, his eyes cutting away for a moment as he gathered himself. It was just a fleeting moment, the strange twisted anger falling away almost as quickly as it had shown itself before Keith launched into a near clinical analysis of that had happened when they’d rescued him from the Akuma. As he spoke, Shiro became lost in the words as he drank Keith as if he were an oasis, standing before him like salvation after he’d walked the desert for so long. Even with the obvious strain of the past week on his shoulders, he still shined with a ferocity that captivated him. Fingers brushed softly over his cheek again as he continued to talk, drawing a small mewl from Shiro’s lips.

 

“I really should call the doctors in,” Keith said lowly, breaking the spell that he’d unknowingly cast on the saiko-komon. “They’ll want to check you out.” Their skin brushed together as Shiro shook his head, fixing his silver gaze on his love as he spoke.

 

“Just give me a few more minutes with just you,” he said, voice cracking over the words. Shiro’s eyes were already growing heavy again with the medications that were dripping through the IV in his arm, and he tried to fight against it. He felt the way Keith’s grip on his hand softened as he sat back in the chair with a nod, violet eyes catching the way his eyelashes had fluttered against his cheek.

 

“You wouldn’t think being unconscious would make you so tired,” he attempted to joke before the oyabun could point out the way his eyelids were drooping. _Just a few more moments_ , he silently begged as the drugs pulled on him. _I just got him back._ Shiro rubbed his thumb over the joint of Keith’s, enjoying the way it made his fingers twitch with the contact. A lazy smile unfurled over his lips as the darkness between each of his blinks grew longer. 

 

_I don’t want to sleep just yet_.

 

“Don’t worry, Takashi,” Keith said lowly, answering the words he hadn’t realized he’d slurred. The mattress groaned as Keith propped his other elbow on the mattress and settled his chin onto his open palm. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

 

His words were thick with promise, replaying in Shiro’s mind as he slipped back into the shadows, this time anchored to the world by the warmth of Keith’s hand in his.

 

_****************_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAH I MISSED MY SAIKO-KOMON SOOOOOON lol. It took everything I had not to do the whole "Good to have you back," "Good to be back" line. Though, I suppose there's still time for me to do that huh? XD
> 
> While I'm here, uuuuuh can we talk about Season 4? Talk about gooooood shit.
> 
> Anyway, as always, thanks for swinging by to read!
> 
>  ~~Shameless self promotion time~~ In need of something a bit more lighthearted? Check out my other Sheith fics for 1) Phantom Thief Fun, 2) Stripper Pole Palooza and/or 3) Backseat Blowjobs
> 
> ***UPDATED NOTE 11/3*** My multi chapters are on a semi hiatus because of 12 Days of ODM and Secret Santa gifts! There will most likely only be one update this month and 1-2 next month so I can focus on making everyone's presents so they're out on time and up to standard :) Promise this isn't abandoned, just need to focus on some holiday stuff cuz TIS THE SEASON! ~~of the 13 things i have to write, two have been completed, one is half done, one is like 1/3 done and they other is mapped out so i mean we're getting there~~ If you wanna see what I'm up to, see sneak peeks and/or just see my random musings, you can find me on tumblr at theolddarkmachine or on Twitter @odmwrites :D


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAAY FOR THE NOVEMBER UPDATE! Sorry again for things getting cut back during the holidays. Great news, the 12 Days of ODM are coming along nicely :) 7 out of 12 have been completed! 
> 
> Anyway, no warnings other than a lot of mental anguish. This chapter is a necessary evil chapter. The kind that is setting us up for the finale. After this, there's one chapter and an epilogue left.
> 
> Some helpful terms:  
> Shinku no Raion- Keith's clan. Means Crimson Lions. A clan in the Sumiyoshi-kai family  
> Murasaki no Akuma- Zarkon's clan. Means Purple Demons. A clan in the Yamaguchi-gumi family.  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.

_I’m sorry._

 

The apology weighed heavy on Keith’s chest as he choked on the blood that had filled his mouth. Everything was the flavor of rust as its metallic tang filled his senses. Bright pops of pained light blinded him as his nails scratched against cool tile, searching for a weapon he knew wasn’t there. For one of the first times in his life, Keith felt the cold stab of fear as it wrenched its jagged edge deep into the bone of his sternum. It was the kind of raw emotion that sunk through every nerve of his being until he felt filleted with his insides exposed as he bled out for all to see. His breathing stuttered out of him in one long shuddering gasp as he continued his frenzied search for anything to defend himself. 

 

_Love can turn people into monsters as easily as hate._

 

Coran’s words screamed in his mind in an unending cadence as the panic tasted bitter at the back of his tongue. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Keith had had a plan, even if it had been entrenched in the bitter rage that had fueled him since Shiro had been taken. If it was a monster that was needed to beat a monster, he would turn himself into the hungriest one of all. Only, monsters never won. In the end, the whole point was lost because there was no such thing as a happy ending for one that had given themselves over to the darkness. 

 

Another sharp pain of despair drove the barb further into his chest as he attempted a kick that was easily blocked. 

 

He was going to lose. 

 

Keith was going to die here on the floor like a dog, and no one would know until the Akuma sent his body back to his clan wrapped up with a neat little bow.

 

Shiro wouldn’t know until he saw his head detached from his shoulders and staring up at him from the confines of a box. 

 

_And I don’t want to lose you. So, please. Wait._

 

_He_ didn’t deserve this. Had never deserved this. They should have met in a different time, in a different place. One where love would have been lauded. One where they would have been able to let it cultivate and bloom outside of the confines of the shadows. Shiro had deserved that. God, how he wished he would have allowed himself to stay behind. If only he had stayed.

 

If only he had said everything he needed to say.

 

Another sharp kick to his ribs sent his thoughts shattering across the ground in a smear of crimson as his insides heaved warm blood passed his lips.

 

“Is that all you have, Little Lion?” Zarkon growled, using the heel of his shoe to push Keith onto his back so he could stare down at the younger leader. An angry fire raged in the depths of the Akuma’s darkened eyes, his pupils wide with bloodlust as he fixed him with a glare. Fear and regret were a volatile mix low in his gut as all the words that he’d left unsaid screamed through his mind.

 

_I need you._

 

_Shiro._

 

_I couldn’t forgive myself if I lost you._

 

_Shiro._

 

_I love you._

 

His gaze flitted from the devil glaring down at him to the white skin of his knuckles as he tightened his grip on the blade in his clutch. Zarkon’s smile was filled with frost and razorblades as the cool light above them glinted off his sword. In another panicked motion, Keith threw an arm out to pull the oyabun’s leg out from under him so that he would lose his footing and he might be able to regain some semblance of an advantage. A sharp sting erupted across his palms as instead of the warmth, clothed leg, he was met with the flat of a blade. The defeat of it sent his mind reeling as his thoughts began to swim together, bleeding into each other in an incoherent jumble punctuated by storm filled eyes and warm hands on his skin. 

 

Zarkon placed his foot on Keith’s throat, pressing his weight into his trachea as he smiled down at him. The pain of it sent a roaring throb coursing through his body like an angry tempest looking to tear him apart from the inside out. Keith’s eyes widened as he stared up at his death, Zarkon’s mouth forming words he didn’t hear as his thoughts continued to batter against his skull. There was only a moment before his body took over, his fingers clawing at the foot that had pressed down into him as his very being fought against the agony and lack of oxygen. 

 

_I’m sorry._

 

Black spots started to eat away at his vision as he glared defiantly up at Zarkon, his body continuing to twist and writhe beneath his foot. He shouldn’t have left. Now he was going to do to Shiro what he had feared most.

 

Now, he was going to die.

 

It was as Keith threw the last of his fear filled energy into another hopeless jab at the oyabun, that Zarkon’s blade caught the light as he lifted it for his next strike. 

 

_I’m so sorry, Shiro._

 

*******

**Before.**

Shiro watched the makeshift meeting that was taking place at the foot of his bed, only vaguely aware of the words that were flying quickly between the waka gashira and Keith. Though he had officially awoken from his coma two days prior, his body still worked against him as if it were trying to drag him back into the darkness he’d been lost in. It left his head foggy and his limbs heavy, the ghost of his right arm the heaviest of all. 

 

The doctors had all explained to him in too many terms exactly what the loss of his limb had meant. Had laid out in great, agonizing detail the result of what the Akuma had done to him, their long drawn out sentences and ten dollar words all simmering down to one, painful fact.

 

His arm was gone.

 

They’d quickly followed up the damning realization with words of encouragement and an array of paths for him to choose from, all in which fell on deaf ears as he’d quickly lost himself to the swirling darkness of his own despair.

 

They’d broken him.

 

His arm was gone.

 

The only thing that gave him any solace, was the deep amethyst of Keith’s gaze, his jeweled eyes attempting to provide him any sort of lifeline to keep him anchored. He’d watched as his best friend nodded along to the words the doctors continued to regurgitate with all the finesse of machines working down a mundane list, having already heard what they had to say about rehabilitation and the future. Instead of listening, Shiro had allowed himself to trace the sharp line of Keith’s nose and attempted to count the dust of freckles that decorated the bridge. He had let his gaze shift over the dangerous curve of his best friend’s mouth as it struggled to keep in a disinterested line, as if he didn’t notice the way Shiro was drinking him in with all the vigor of a man avoiding all else. 

 

Even with the angry shadows that marred the skin under his eyes, Keith had still managed to ease the ever growing panic that had twisted sour bile in his gut. All of his instincts had screamed out for him, urging Shiro to be selfish for once in his damn life and ask the oyabun to stay in the one place he had always made it clear that he wanted to be in. Worry and the mundane drawl of the doctors were the only things that had left him any sense of self. Without them, he may have ignored his careful inspections that had unearthed the fact that Keith himself still had not recovered fully from his own wounds.

 

_"You need to get some rest, Keith,” he’d said after the doctors had finally left, taking their crushing words about recovery and prosthetics with them._

 

_“I can rest here,” Keith had replied, rolling his eyes as he retook the recliner as his throne, leaning into the caress of the cheap faux leather. If Shiro was anyone else, he might have missed the way Keith had winced, the movement of it such a subtle twitch it could have been played off as merely an aborted blink. He wasn’t anyone else, though, and learning Keith’s nuances had been something he’d done for the majority of his life._

 

_"In a real bed,” Shiro had deadpanned, recognizing the tightening of the oyabun’s jaw that meant all his arguments would be fruitless before he slammed the door on the topic with two words._

 

_“I’m fine.”_

 

Since, Keith was an ever present force sitting by his bed and providing every distraction Shiro could have needed to escape the harsh truths of his new reality. 

 

Shiro was broken. He had always been, his damage once tucked beneath the surface where it could be hidden. Now, the evidence of it stood out for all to see. 

 

Now, everyone would know.

 

A barely there brush of fingertips over the back of his hand pulled him up from the inky mire of his darkened thoughts as he looked up just in time to see Keith’s worried gaze before it flickered away from him and back towards Pidge.

 

“With what Hunk overheard, the Akuma have a new deal going down at the Port of Nagoya with the Mafia,” she explained, pointing to the port’s location on the map tacked to the wall opposite Shiro’s bed. Ever since he’d awakened, the four other Raion had taken it upon themselves to turn his room into their new meeting space, though if it was because they truly wanted him in on the planning or because Keith refused to leave, he wasn’t sure.

 

Not that his return to consciousness hadn’t been met with tears and excitement, each of the waka gashira welcoming him back with open smiles. Their joy to see him was so genuine, it had almost masked the concerned glances they’d cut towards Keith. When he’d asked about it, the oyabun had just brushed it off, merely stating that they hadn’t exactly seen eye-to-eye on some things. The excuse was so flat and uninspired that Shiro hadn’t even pushed the subject, knowing Keith well enough to be aware that the oyabun wouldn’t give him a straight answer.

 

“Tonight we should catch them off guard,” Pidge continued, voice clipped as her hazel eyes bore into the man just to the left of his bed as she spoke. There was a undercurrent of insubordination lying beneath her tone as if she didn’t agree but had given up saying anything. It was enough to cause Shiro to tear his own gaze away from the map and coinciding photos and towards Keith, who looked nonchalant as he returned her look. A moment passed as they silently communicated, their heated conversation of steeled glares only ending once Pidge finally looked away.

 

“So it’s me and Hunk coming from the side?” Lance asked, leaning against the wall near the entrance to Shiro’s room as if he was a guard. He had been the most obvious in his worry, lurking by the door and carefully regarding Keith during each meeting. While he had done that, Shiro had watched him, making a mental note of the way his mouth turned further down with each meeting as if he was trying to hold back whatever was weighing on his mind.

 

“Yes, and I’ll be alone and cover the back entrance,” Keith confirmed with a swift nod, turning his attention towards their friend with his shoulders steeled as if waiting for an argument that never came. The words continued to sling back and forth, creating a constant hum as they pieced together a plan, all the while shooting each other silent cues that all seemed to dance around both their oyabun and his saiko-komon.

 

An uneasy tension was cresting over the room and working its way under his skin as he observed the scene around him, not missing the way each of his friends would quickly look away from him whenever they caught each others gazes. Even as their voices began to rise, Keith pushing against his waka gashira with biting words and harsh orders, they continued to avoid his questioning look. 

 

At least, until Hunk caught his eye before he followed behind Pidge and Lance, who had effectively stormed out. It was a moment of hesitation when he focused on him, his mouth pressed into a line as his chocolate gaze flickered over the stump of his arm before dragging up to his silvered gaze. In that moment, Shiro understood.

 

_You’re broken._

 

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice was soft as he said his name, drawing it out into a question as he turned away from the now empty doorway. He was vaguely aware of the way his name curled gently from his tongue as he tried to focus on his breathing instead of the acidic thoughts that had begun to eat away at his insides.

 

_You’re broken._

 

_You’re useless._

 

_You’re no longer needed._

 

In his condition, Shiro wouldn’t be able to protect Keith. He couldn’t protect anyone. Hell, he couldn’t even get himself out of the bed, and suddenly it all came crashing down around him. The Raion would walk into a battle without him, and he would be useless to do anything outside of sit in his hospital room and wait.

 

Wait for word. Wait for a sign. Wait to lose one of them.

 

_Wait to lose him._

 

The bed dipped under the weight of a knee placed by his side as Keith hoisted himself onto the mattress, carefully straddling his hips as his fingers gently ghosted over his skin until they cupped his face.

 

“Shiro,” he breathed, voice calm as he looked at him.

 

His weight was a welcome distraction as he pushed closer, his hands soft as if they held something precious in their grasp. 

 

“Come back to me, Shiro,” Keith said as he gently brushed the pads of his thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to pull away. Nothing good had ever come of giving into his desires, especially when his heart was beating so angrily against his chest, each spike caught by the heart monitor. But that close, with Keith’s starry night eyes filling his vision, he couldn’t stop himself as he closed the distance between them.

 

Pressing into the kiss, Shiro caught Keith’s moan on the tip of his tongue before he returned it. His hand found the small of Keith’s back as he nipped at his lips, pulling him even closer so that they were chest to chest. Everything was fire around him, the very space where their skin touched becoming the very fuse that ignited the world around them. He let out a long breath as he pulled away enough to move his lips to the line of Keith’s jaw, dragging chaste kisses over the bone until he found the soft tissue of his neck. 

 

The corners of his mouth twitched downward as he gently bit at his best friend’s pulse before soothing it with his tongue. It earned him a moan as he continued to work his way down the path of Keith’s neck, only stopping once he made his way back up towards his ear.

 

“Don’t go to Nagoya,” he whispered into his skin, voice raw with his plea. “Wait for me.”

 

Shiro felt him tense under his hand as soon as he spoke, Keith’s hands sliding down over his throat and to his shoulders as he pulled back enough to fix Shiro with a weary look. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the man before him as a look of something caught between unease and fear flashed over his eyes before it was replaced by something else. He could see him going over the words and arguments as to why they couldn’t wait for him to move on the Akuma, and saw each time he discarded them for search of anything else that would let him down easier. 

 

That almost made it worse.

 

_You’re damaged goods._

 

_You’re no good to an oyabun like this._

 

_You couldn’t even protect Keith before._

 

The vicious thoughts weaved through his mind, masking themselves with the oyabun’s voice and slowly tearing him apart from the inside, all within the span of the few seconds it took for Keith to decide how to continue forward.

 

“Shiro,” he finally sighed, leaning away from the half halo of his arm as he looked over the saiko-komon with impossibly sad eyes. Longing spread through his chest at the sudden loss of Keith’s warmth, his hand resting on his hip as he tried to maintain any contact at all. The sharp spike of electronic noise alerted him to the heart monitor picking up the stutter of his heart.

 

“We can’t risk you getting hurt again,” Keith said lowly, as if he was trying to keep the conversation caught in the space between them. His words battered within the distance that separated their chests, their weight beating against his flesh and leaving open wounds in its wake. Beneath his palm, Keith’s hip was warm and overtly solid, the shape of it explicit in its very existence. If he allowed himself, he could move his hand upward just enough for his fingertips to ghost over the skin there.

 

Instead, Shiro drew it back.

 

“I’ll be fine.” 

 

He watched as Keith’s eyes flicked a barely there glance towards the hand that was no longer holding onto him. They both ignored the flash of hurt that turned his gaze a darker shade of mauve.

 

“That’s what we thought before, and look where that got you.” 

 

The words were tempered steel, so finely sharpened he hardly felt their sting as they worked their way between his ribs. Unmistakable pain turned Keith’s voice brusque as he lost what little authoritative edge he had desperately clung to. The true extent of his grief from the past week came crashing out of him like a wave crashing through the walls of a dam. Its rushing waters took everything with it, including Shiro’s breath.

 

“Keith,” his name was a soft exhale. Fixing his eyes on a point just above Shiro’s shoulder, the oyabun began to worry his lip between his teeth as he worked to regain his composure. As if pulled toward Keith by a gravitational pull, his hand met his cheek, fingers brushing softly over the crest of his cheekbone and earning him a soft hum as he pressed into the touch. 

 

“This wasn’t your fault, Keith,” he murmured as he he catalogued the gentle caress of Keith’s hitching breath on his wrist deep in his most private thoughts.

 

“This is what our life means. I—” Shiro paused as he searched for his next words, feeling himself nosing towards the thin line that they’d silently drawn between them and solidified over the years. “I knew it could happen.”

 

Tension ran through Keith as he spoke though he still didn’t pull away.

 

“Just wait, Keith,” he continued, brushing over the line and stepping onto the other side. It was a low blow. An underhanded trick to break down the brick and mortar that Keith had erected in his absence in an attempt to keep everyone out. He was a force of nature, his bitter rage constantly burning beneath the surface of his jeweled eyes, but not with him. Shiro knew that Keith would let him in if only Shiro let him in first. He heard Coran’s voice clearly as he let his next words fall from his lips.

 

_Let him go, Shiro. He’ll need a tool, not a lover. And your love will only make him weak._

 

“That’s all I’m asking. Just, wait for me.”

 

Honesty colored his tone with heavy handed gilding that he had hoped hid his true intent. All he needed was for Keith to wait long enough for him to be able to protect him. Shiro might have been tarnished, but he needed to find a way to do that much. He needed to—

 

“We can’t wait, Shiro!” The sudden exclamation broke the moment in two as Keith pulled away further and sat back on his haunches, careful to keep his weight off of him. His breath was a hiss as he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut as if to block him out. In that moment, he was Atlas as he struggled against the weight of the world. 

 

“This isn’t an opportunity we can afford to miss.” Keith’s voice trembled as it fought between exasperation and authority, the war between what he wanted to do and what he needed to do coming to a head before Shiro’s eyes. A hollow ache began to blossom in his chest as he looked at the oyabun who was so close, but hadn’t ever been so far away.

 

“There will be another.” It was a plea that hung over their heads like a guillotine.

 

Time stretched until it was an inconsequential concept, seconds stretching into hours and hours becoming days as the silence thickened. Something shifted as a static current accented the deafening quiet. Shiro watched the way Keith’s chest rose with his deep inhale as he made a decision, his eyes opening as his hand dropped to his side. Fixing his burning amethyst stare on him, he spoke again, this time his voice tempered with a decisive fire. 

 

“Shiro, it could take months.” 

 

Keith cut straight to the bone with the finality of his statement. It was a knockout to counter the one Shiro had dealt, the only difference was that Keith’s had landed and left him reeling. 

 

_It could take months._

 

He didn’t mean another opportunity.

 

All of the air was sucked from the room as he picked apart the meaning behind what Keith said, his mind snatching it apart until his truth was laid bare before him.

 

_You’re broken._

 

Keith would have never blatantly said it, Shiro knew. He wouldn’t even ever mean it as anything other than a blatant fact. Everything the doctors had said came roaring back like the screaming winds of a storm, and suddenly the only thing that mattered was hearing it from Keith himself. Everyone had acknowledged the obvious, except for his best friend, who had only sat in silence beside him the entire time, offering silent reassurance that had originally placated all of Shiro’s fears. 

 

If Keith never spoke the words, it couldn’t be true.

 

Only now, it felt like his silence had been something else that that needled him, causing his chest to heave with a simmering anger waiting for any kindling that would send it into a full blaze.

 

Now, he needed to hear him say it.

 

“What could take months?” The saiko-komon asked forcefully, pushing the question passed the cage of his teeth. They tasted bitter on the tip of his tongue as he spoke, tone charred and darkened by the flames licking their way up his throat. Shiro watched the shift that rippled over Keith’s skin as he continued to stare at him with his cutting gaze as if he could answer the question simply by the sheer force of his gaze. After a moment’s pause, he repeated the question, biting out each word as he spoke.

 

“Keith. What could take months?”

 

With a huff, the oyabun pushed himself off the bed, lithely hopping off the edge so that he could stand off to the side with his back turned towards him. As he waited for the answer that he wasn’t even sure would come, Shiro allowed himself to trace the outline of Keith’s tensed shoulders. Caught amongst the embers of his own rage, a cool ache of yearning stood out amongst the pain of it as his fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to bring Keith close enough again to touch. The opposing emotions melded together until they created something else entirely that left a hole gaping in his chest. 

 

But he still needed to hear it. Needed to hear Keith say it. 

 

“God dammit, Shiro, until you’re better!” He finally growled, turning on his heel, hands coming up in a half clawed form as if Keith didn’t even know what to do with them. His next words were terse as his eyes darkened.

 

“And even then they can’t guarantee you’ll ever get back to your full range of movement.”

 

There it was, laid out before Shiro, tinged in poison and darkened by dread that only served to twist everything he knew into curling, shadowed figures of the truth. With one admission, the reality of it came crashing down around him and it was as if he’d been punched in the chest.

 

_You’re broken._

 

“So that’s it,” he breathed to himself.“Your tool is broken, and you, you no longer need it.” 

 

Keith snarled angrily as he turned away again, his hands finding the armchair that he’d taken as his home away from home and shoving it away, the force of his outburst sending it crashing to the ground and into the wall.

 

“You know that isn’t the truth,” he snapped, his shoulders heaving with labored breathing as he attempted to calm himself. 

 

“Then what is it?” Shiro demanded, ignoring the way his voice cracked. Even to his own ears, he sounded defeated. Up until that point, he hadn’t realized that the Akuma had taken so much more from him than just his arm. Quick as a crack of lightning, Keith was back in front of him, one hand fisted in the fabric of his hospital gown and the other clutching at the pillow behind his head as he pushed their foreheads together.

 

 

“I can’t fucking lose you again,” he whispered, his breath dragging the words over Shiro’s skin. “I won’t.”

 

His hair was was soft as it pulled through Shiro’s fingers, his palm pressing against the flat of Keith’s neck as he held him where he was. An eerie blanket of calm had settled over the oyabun as he spoke and everything within him screamed at him to try and make him stay.

 

“And I don’t want to lose you,” Shiro said just as lowly, working his fingers gently into the nape of Keith’s neck. “So, please. Wait.” 

 

For a single, heart stopping moment, he thought he had done it. Thought he’d managed to placate the monster that had glared back at him from the black of Keith’s eyes as the man before him sucked in a shuddering breath. For that single moment, he had hope that he’d changed Keith’s mind.

 

Then he was gone.

 

Pushing away from Shiro’s hold, Keith turned away for a last time.

 

“No, Shiro. I’m ending this.” His voice was flat as he made his way around the bed, unaware that each word sent another crack across his sternum.

 

“Keith,” Shiro started, voice urgent as he tried to pull forward from where he sat, only to be met with the angry sting of the needles in his arm pulling at his skin.

 

“You’ll stay here,” he deadpanned, not looking back as he reached the doorway. “That’s an order.” 

 

It was the first time Keith had ever given him an order that he hadn’t already wanted to do. A stone began to form in the base of his throat, effectively choking him of air as he tugged on the IVs again, only managing to shake the machines with a metallic rattle.

 

“Keith!” But it was too late. Shiro was alone and all he was met with was the sound of Keith’s order hanging in the air.

 

*******

 

An ominous feeling akin to that of the air before a storm had been working its way through Lance ever since they’d left Shiro’s room earlier that day with their plan sketched out before them. It raised the hair dusting his arms and along the nape of his neck with its tickling presence, running its creeping fingers over his throat until he was choking on it. 

 

There was something off about the whole deal. From Hunk gathering the information from an overheard conversation to the lack of opposition they’d been met with when they’d arrived, it was all wrong. Lance’s stomach turned as he and Hunk had made their way further into the warehouse. 

 

It all just seemed too easy.

 

Nothing had ever come so effortlessly with the Akuma, at least not without something in exchange that was almost always a higher price than what they got in return was worth. Hadn’t they learned that much with what happened to Shiro in the first place?

 

Now the saiko-komon was handicapped, and may never return to the man he once was, all because they’d fallen into a false sense of ease created by insatiable revenge. A revenge that had blinded their leader to every obvious sign that something was amiss. Every single one of Lance’s instincts were telling him to cut and run. Keith, had said otherwise.

 

_“Don’t you think it’s a bit convenient?” He’d asked just shortly after Shiro had woken up and the bitter fire burning deep in the oyabun’s eyes had returned._

 

_“It was about time something convenient happened for us,” Keith had returned, his volley full of misplaced malice as he’d stared back at Shiro’s room. “We’re doing this, Lance. Call the others.”_

 

The oyabun was beyond negotiating, having decided during his time alone with Shiro’s sleeping form that this would be their final retaliation against the Akuma. Normally, Lance would have been all for ending this fight once and for all. But now, striding through the empty warehouse with Hunk at his side and the hair rising on the back of his neck, he wished they could have a little more time to figure out what was really going on here.

 

When they’d come to the dock, ready to bust another human trafficking deal, this time between their rivals and the American mafia, Lance had been certain they would be met with force. Any other time they’d moved against the Akuma, there had been patrols and gunmen. There’d been tents set up and shipping containers filled with humans ready to be sold off like cattle.

 

Here, there was nothing more than an empty warehouse and his and Hunk’s echoed footsteps.

 

“This is weirding me out,” Hunk hissed as they made their way towards yet another door down yet another hall. 

 

“You’re telling me,” Lance replied, finger twitching over the trigger of his pistol as he took a steadying breath. After a brief pause at the entrance to the next room, they pushed their way in only to be met by silence and a hollowed out warehouse room.

 

“Dammit.” The word was a sharp growl as Hunk walked further into the room, surveying the vacant area for any sign of people or a trap. An edge of anxiety danced its way over Lance’s spine as he followed the weapons specialist. There should be a sign of something here if there really was a deal.

 

Anything.

 

_Where was everyone?_

 

“What’s it look like on your end, Keith?” Lance asked, eyes scanning the open area of the warehouse as if he would find some answer that would quell the bitter unease that was burning the back of his throat. The soft sound of static was the only answer he got. 

 

“Hey, buddy?” Hunk tried after several moments, lowering his gun as he pressed the bud of the earpiece further into his ear in some useless attempt to hear better. His heart started to pound loudly against his sternum as they both waited for a response that never came. 

 

“Keith?” Pidge’s voice sounded urgent as the distant click of keys started to clack rhythmically in the background. “Keith,” she tried again after getting nothing back but the crackling silence of a deadened line.

 

“Pidge, do you have eyes on him?” Lance asked, as he turned on his heel, grasp tightening over the grip of his gun as he made his way back towards the only entrance into the empty room. The sharp taste of fear coated his tongue as he tried to scramble for any explanation as to what was going on. It felt like there was just one piece of the puzzle missing, the one that would have formed a full picture and given them their answer.

 

It was right there on the tip of his tongue.

 

“I’ve got nothing. I don’t—” Pidge’s voice was strained as she spoke. “I don’t even know if he ever made it to the building.”

 

His stomach dropped at her words as Lance stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening as it all came together.

 

_I don’t even know if he ever made it to the building._

 

Keith had never meant to make it to the building. He’d been adamant that he be alone with Pidge back in her position as their eyes and Hunk and Lance being paired together on the opposite end of the building. He had been the one that had asked Pidge for the maps of the area so he could plan it all out. Had even been the one to ask her where all the cameras were so that they could avoid any surveillance the Akuma may have been doing on their own.

 

While they’d been planning for an attack on the Akuma, Keith had been planning his chance to get away from the their ever present worry. 

 

“Looking for your oyabun, Raion?” A smooth voice asked, its timbre low as Sendak settled his shoulder against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared them down. His grin pulled his lips over his sharpened canines as he looked between Hunk and Lance, a sick joy glinting in his eyes as he watched them piece everything together. Lance saw Hunk raise his pistol out of the corner of his eye as he tried to swallow the fear that was eating away at his throat.

 

“Where is he?” Hunk demanded, only causing Sendak’s smile to widen. It was a sinister thing, all barbed wire and acid as he stared that the two Raion. When he answered, his voice was even darker, filled with a macabre humor that raised goosebumps along Lance’s skin.

 

“I suspect he’s where he can find exactly who he’s looking for.”

 

*******

 

**After.**

The bright glint of the metal against light was a starburst as Zarkon swung the blade downwards towards him. Time slowed as he watched the sword slicing through the air in a seemingly unending arc of silver, and for a panicked moment, he wondered why he hadn’t seen his life flash before his eyes. It wasn’t until he saw the sharpened tip coming ever closer that he realized it was because he’d left his life alone in a hospital room waiting for him to come home. His breath caught in his throat as he scrambled for anything, and only coming up with the same two words, repeated over and over like a mantra.

 

_I’m sorry._

 

A shadow cut across Keith’s vision, blocking the sight of the blade as it met its mark, sending a spray of warm crimson across his face. Only one name etched itself deep into the silence of his mind as he took a shuddering gasp of breath.

 

_Shiro._

 

*****************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: This is still on a semi-hiatus while I finish up the 12 Days prompts and Sheith Secret Santa! Next update will be some time in December!
> 
> Need something to read to pass the time between updates? Check out my other Sheith works!  
> [Vector to the Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12558924/chapters/28602240)  
> [Cherries & Whiskey](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12463776)  
> [Starboy & Sugartits: A Love Story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12195297)  
> [The Crimson King](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12100506)


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I am so sorry it took so long to update this? It turns out it took a LOT more time to do all those holiday prompts I had taken on, and it also turns out that the burn out is REAL. So remind me to never try to keep up with two multi chapters, do 12 one shots and a secret santa all at the same time ever again lol Anyway, it’s the second to last chapter! All that’s left after this is an epilogue and I promise that one will NOT take a month and a half to write. Please be aware that things do get bloody this chapter.
> 
> Some helpful terms:  
> Shinku no Raion- Keith's clan. Means Crimson Lions. A clan in the Sumiyoshi-kai family  
> Murasaki no Akuma- Zarkon's clan. Means Purple Demons. A clan in the Yamaguchi-gumi family.  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.  
> Tantō- A short traditional sword carried by samurai.

_In the middle of the night, Shiro’s room was claustrophobic. The shadows of midnight draped their inky darkness across his floor, the blackness clinging to the furniture until it almost looked like they were alive. Each corner held another dark beast, just waiting for Shiro to fall asleep as he peered back at them, frozen by his own scattered thoughts and numbing fear._

_Just earlier that evening, as he and Keith had been playing a game of tag, their heavy footsteps echoing off the otherwise abandoned halls of the temple as the rest of the clan met for a gathering they weren’t invited to. Maybe if they were older, the snub would bother them, but a meeting meant next to nothing to a child when there were more pressing matters to attend to. That pressing matter having been trying to catch Keith and make him it._

_Having lost him in the bowels of the temple, the only clue to where he’d disappeared to being the wisp of laughter that clung to the air, Shiro found himself running through the hall and tracing all the different corners for his friend. It was then, as he was passing the meeting room, that he head Daiki’s voice carrying through the thin screen. The meeting, it appeared, was regarding Daiki’s successor, who was undoubtedly going to be Keith._

_His best friend was going to be the new leader of the clan._

_Maybe not now— how could he, he was only eight— but one day, Keith was going to be the one at the head of the meetings._

_One day, he would be the one with the target on his back._

_In the two years since Shiro had come to the temple, he had grown impossibly close to Daiki and Coran, but most of all, Keith. He was his best friend, and even though he was still young, he still understood the implications of being a Yakuza clan leader. Though they were not invited to be a part of meetings or to go on jobs, Daiki and the rest of the Shinku no Raion didn’t hide what they were. Even with their pacifist ideals, and their rule of only returning fire, he had seen the bruising and wounds that some of the men returned home with._

_Shiro had still known some men that died._

_Being the new oyabun would put Keith at the forefront of the danger, a mark for all the other clans._

He could die.

_The thought choked him as he bit back a cry, fixated on a particular dark corner that seemed to hold the same insidious thoughts that were plaguing him. Keith was the only family he had left. He couldn’t die._

_Shiro wouldn’t let him._

_Throwing back the thick blanket, cool air instantly rolling over him and raising goosebumps over his arms, Shiro crawled out of bed, carefully avoiding the shadows that were twisting over the soft rug that lay across his room. He had to warn Keith. Had to tell him he couldn’t become the next oyabun. Pushing aside open the door to his room, Shiro looked to either end of the hallway, ensuring the the dark marks stretched across the hardwood were of the very same nighttime shadows as those of his room before exiting._

_Wrapping his arms around himself, Shiro padded quietly towards Keith’s room, not bothering to knock as he let himself in. The soft rasp of the sliding door brushing against its frame was the only sound in his room as he quickly found his best friend’s sleeping form. Tucked deep in the comforter atop his bed, Keith was nothing more than a wild mop of black hair peeking up over the blanket. Slow, even breaths marked time like the second hand of a watch as Shiro drew closer, careful not to make any loud noise that would startle him._

_Thin ribbon of moonlight fell through Keith’s window, slicing bright white across the floor where Shiro settled beside his bed as if to ward off the darkness. Gently, he put his hand on Keith’s shoulder, shaking it slightly as he made a low noise in his throat._

_“Keith,” he hissed, hoping not to be so loud it would scare him, but loud enough to wake him from whatever dream he might be having._

_“Keith,” he tried again, shaking a little harder when he didn’t receive a response._

_“’S matter, Shiro?” The pile of hair mumbled lowly, finally showing sign of life as the comforter was pulled down to reveal Keith’s amethyst gaze. Even marred by sleep, they still shone brightly in the darkness. A single moment stretched as consciousness became actualized and he pushed the blanket down further, pushing himself up onto an elbow as he looked down at where Shiro kneeled._

_“Are you okay?” He asked, lips turning downward in a confused frowned as he looked over his best friend._

_“You’re going to become oyabun,” Shiro said in a hushed tone, his voice small and wavering as he spoke. He watched as Keith’s dark eyebrows pulled together and up as if by a string as he cocked his head to the side._

_“Yes.”_

_That one, simple word pulled a gasp from his mouth as he pressed forward, his arms braced against Keith’s mattress. He couldn’t quite explain the way his heart fluttered within the cage of his ribs, much like a bird hoping to break free._

_“But what if you get hurt?” He asked, voice petulant as his fingers crushed the soft blanket to his palm._

_“Takashi,” Keith whined, scrubbing a fist over his eye in a vain attempt to wipe the sleep away._

_“What if you get hurt?” He repeated, not backing away as he waited for his best friend’s answer. Shiro needed an answer. Needed to hear that Keith wouldn’t get hurt. That the only family he had left in this world wouldn’t leave him too._

_“It’s too late, Takashi, can we talk about this tomorrow?”_

_The darkness that had weighed itself down on Shiro’s shoulders in his own room found him there on Keith’s floor, pushing its heavy claws down until it felt like he’d be crushed. It was the same crushing sense that followed him, watching from the pits of his mind and waiting for its chance to take him. And now, it was doing its best to take him right there._

_“I don’t want you to get hurt.” His words were small, so small they could have easily fallen through the cracks of the space between as Shiro sat back on his heels, fists loosening on Keith’s blanket as he embraced the dark weight. Even with its paltry existence, his admission stopped Keith, his mouth frozen in the shape of a small o as he stared down at where his best friend sat. Shiro felt the way he shifted, the movement shaking the mattress beneath his arms before the blanket was pulled from beneath his forearms. In the cleared space, Keith dropped his palm, beckoning him to lay down with the same soft invitation that would be offered to a frightened animal._

_“I don’t think I can promise not to get hurt,” he whispered, his own voice melting into the moonlight scarring the floor. “But what about a deal?”_

_Sniffing back a cool line of tears that had worked their way down his nose, Shiro climbed into the empty space next to him. He tried to ignore the worried look that pinched Keith’s features, wishing that he would smile instead._

_Keith shouldn’t look so sad, especially not because of him._

_Tugging the blanket up to Shiro’s chin, Keith settled back into bed, laying on his back so his gaze was turned up towards the ceiling._

_“A deal?” His voice was watery as their arms brushed._

_“Become my saiko-komon,” Keith said, voice sounding much older than the eight years that he was. “That way, you can protect me, and I can protect you.”_

_Certainty colored his tone with something warm that heated Shiro’s cheeks as Keith turned his head to fix him with a hopeful look. It was pure and bright, filled with nothing but confidence, as if the future oyabun didn’t hold any doubts that together, they would make it._

_In that moment, Shiro believed it too._

_Nodding slowly in fear of snapping the moment in two, he gave one single word of agreement._

_“Okay.”_

_A brightly lit crescent split Keith’s lips as he looked at Shiro with every star caught in the gleam of his eyes, its light beating back the darkness that had grasped his heart._

_“It’s a deal then. I’ll protect you, and you protect me, and then we won’t have to worry about either of us getting hurt.”_

_With the comforting embrace of their deal wrapped around him, Shiro began to drift towards sleep, lulled by the metronome of Keith’s sleepy breaths. In that moment, everything felt okay._

_Keith would protect him._

_And he would protect Keith._

_He’d protect him with his own life if he had to._

_*******************_

Silence worked itself throughout the dock with the same deafening loudness of a roaring jet as it beat itself deep into the drum of his ears. It was the kind of oppressive quiet that accompanied disasters.

More importantly, it was the kind of quiet that accompanied death.

Something was wrong. Shiro could feel it deep in his core, the venomous viper of fear writhing in the murky waters of dread as he walked through the port, left hand tightening over the handle of his tantō. The pressure of his grasp turned the skin of his knuckles white as it strained over the bone.

It was the only thing that kept him focused on something other than the bone deep ache that shot itself through his leg with each step from his barely healed bullet wound. More so, it kept him focused on something other than the way his lungs waged a war against his chest as they tried to pull air in past his constricting ribs.

Not too long after Keith had stormed out of his room with revenge driving a hard line into the angry set of his shoulders, the bone that housed his organs had begun to slowly compress down on his insides. Everything around him had begun the slow descent that would eventually crush him as he’d try to pinpoint the exact reason why everything felt wrong about the Akuma deal.

He could feel that there was a puzzle piece missing from the larger picture that he had already been given incomplete, the truth of the Raion’s plan alluding him as he cut his angry glare into the paper of the tacked up map abandoned on his hospital room’s wall. It was there, the silver of his gaze working another pass over a single red tack at the edge of the map, that it hit him with the same force of a speeding truck.

That very tack was place inconspicuously at the edge of the map, three-quarters up from the bottom right corner of the map and yet another tack. Quickly passing over the paper, it would be easy to miss the extra tack that could just be added security, or another mark in defiance of the hospital staff that had huffed at its sight.

The red plastic stood out against the greyed area, its metallic needle piercing just at the edge of an otherwise unmarked building.

It wasn’t holding up the map, it had been marking it.

Sudden realization had crested over Shiro like a tsunami’s angry rage as he quickly pieced together the entirety of Keith’s plan. His time spent at the hospital, alone with him as he’d waited for Shiro to awaken had been spent pouring countless hours into a scheme that would blind his waka gashira to his truth.

Keith hadn’t planned on them to meet the Akuma together at all.

With the same enthusiasm of a martyr, the oyabun had built a carefully cultivated lie that would allow him to go into this final fight alone.

His plan had one fatal flaw though. He hadn’t taken into account what would happen if Shiro discovered the truth. Hadn’t created a fail safe for when his saiko-komon blatantly ignored his ordered in favor of a promise made in the cover of darkness.

Biting back a a breath of pain caused by the unending ache leeching into his very marrow, Shiro continued toward the marked building, brought to life before him with all the same grey of the printed map. Somewhere in the metallic walls of the warehouse, Keith would be throwing himself down onto a sword in his name. The thought alone was enough to send his heart cascading into the hard expanse of his sternum as he pushed himself quicker to the building.

Each hard fought step reminded him of just how broken he really was, his own balance set off kilter by the missing weight on his right side. The sleeve of his right sleeve had been messily tied off at the juncture of his bicep that ended in stitched up flesh. Admittedly, Shiro knew that he wouldn’t be able to do much to help anyone, let alone Keith if he was engaged with Zarkon. Without the use of his right arm, he wouldn’t trust himself to shoot, and even with his blade, he wouldn’t be much of match for the oyabun.

Yet he could still fight. There was so much more that he could use to protect Keith. It was the duty of the saiko-komon after all, to lay his life on the line to ensure the safety of his oyabun. A small voice in the back of his mind snarked that Shiro would have done it anyway, his own life having always been a matter of forfeit for Keith’s. That much was an inevitability as sure as the sky being blue, and simple as the ease of breathing. Shiro’s lifeline had been inexorably interwoven with Keith’s, leaving them both victims of their circumstance.

Love couldn’t thrive in their world, because they wouldn’t both be allowed to make it out alive.

A single bead of sweat rolled lazily down his temple, finding its way down the track of the vein in his throat before disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. The effort of moving was taxing, his limbs filling with sand with each step as he kept his focus singular, like a starved dog on scraps.

He would make it to Keith.

Shiro would protect him.

The silence of the port continued to push down against his shoulders as he finally reached the door, cool metal of the doorknob sending a frozen jolt straight through his palm and into the beating muscle trapped deep in his chest.

_I’ll protect you, and you protect me, and then we won’t have to worry about either of us getting hurt._

Pushing open the door, Shiro bit down on the meat of his cheek, capturing the pained gasp with the cage of his teeth.

_How foolish they had been to think it would be so easy._

***

Chunks of frost broke themselves off into Lance’s bloodstream as he stared at the Akuma saiko-komon, Sendak’s eyes blazing with barely contained anger as he stared down the barrel of Hunk’s pistol. Snapping his own gun to attention, he swallowed the sharpened edge of panic that ripped a line in his throat.

“What do you mean?” Hunk growled, pinning Sendak beneath the hard weight of his dark oak eyes, unaware of the truth that Lance had stumbled upon of his own volition.

“You heard me, Raion,” the larger man sneered, voice a mix of gravel and broken glass. “He’s exactly where he meant himself to be.”

The air grew thick with the accusation, filling in each space with its dark honesty and their quiet disbelief. A small click of a gun being cocked punctuated the pregnant silence.

“Where is he?” It was a question entirely of Lance’s design as he balanced the metal of his gun on his forearm, aiming it directly at the space above Sendak’s heart. All he would need to do was pull the trigger. A single twitch of his digit could end this entire thing. Swallowing back the sharp taste of adrenaline, he carved crystalline lines into the Akuma’s flesh.

“Now, it wouldn’t be any fun if I told you that,” Sendak replied with a small roll of his shoulder. Muscle rippled along his arm as he ground his position further into the doorway, a quick glint of metal catching the light above them the only thing that gave away the gun he had tucked in the space beneath his armpit. A twinned crack of Hunk’s pistol broke a beat into the open air of the warehouse.

“Enough games. Where is Keith?” Impatience, and something that felt a lot like dread, were a tempest leveling the land of Lance’s being as he watched the saiko-komon. Everything about him screamed ease as he let his dark eyes flick back and forth between them, lips curling further over his sharpened teeth.

In that moment, he was death.

“You’ll have to work harder than that,” Sendak snarled before he unwound his arms, the sharp sound of a shot piercing the open space and sending a cascade of excitement rocking down to his very core. Leaping out to the side blindly, Lance tucked into his fall, rolling over the crest of his right shoulder gracelessly and skidding across the smoothed cement until he stopped just behind a shipping container.

“What’s happening?” Pidge’s voice cut through the din of the fading shot as his eyes worked across the floor to mark both Hunk and Sendak. Where he crouched, he could see Hunk’s frame as he stood with his back against the wall, chest heaving as he stared at the now empty doorway.

“It’s Sendak,” he hissed, counting the rise and fall of his partner’s chest until he felt his own heartbeat slow.

“Shit,” Lance heard through the crackle of the earpiece in response. It was a good enough word as any to sum up their situation. Four letters to perfectly encapsulate in the best of terms where their plan had gone to.

Shit, indeed.

With one eye trained on the cleared doorway, and another on Hunk as he carefully picked his way towards it, Lance settled his arms against the top of the box to steady himself. Not using a scope wasn’t something he liked to do, but he would still make his shot. It was what he’d been trained to do.

There were very few things in this life he was certain of, and that, was one of them.

Pulse beating an erratic tempo against his ear drums, Lance watched as the weapons specialist silently stood at the edge of the doorway, a single breath heaving his shoulders upward as his eyes fluttered shut. A moment of calm pulled the worried lines from his face as his teeth scraped against the fullness of his bottom lip. From where he sat in wait, Lance watched the shudder that worked its way down his partner’s limbs, leaving behind a hardened fighter. Eyes snapping open and capturing his own sea filled stare within the softened onyx of his own.

Time etched a clear path between them in a single pause that stilled the breath in his lungs. Then, as quick as it came, it was snapped like dried twigs beneath a foot as Hunk threw himself around the the corner of the door’s opening, pistol at the ready.

A single shot erupted, ricocheting endlessly off the metallic walls along with a sharp cry of pain.

 _No_.

“Hunk?” Pidge sounded distant in his ear as Lance pushed himself off the ground, focused on the still empty door as his shoes slapped angrily against the concrete.

_No._

“Lance?” Fear picked apart his skin until it left his insides bared.

_No._

Hand catching the edge of the doorway, Lance skid into the hall, gun already lifted as he burst into the enclosed area, nearly tripping over Hunk where he lay pressed against the wall. Crimson was leaking down the marigold of Hunk’s sleeve, muscle and tissue exposed as the weapons specialist breathed through his pain.

Before him, Sendak stood with his cannibalistic sneer.

“Oops,” his voice was pure venom. “Looks like I broke one.”

Pain and rage ripped from the confines of his chest in a vociferous cry that tainted his tongue with the rust flavor of blood.

 _It takes a demon to fight a demon_.

His own words taunted him, etching bitter concepts into his mind colored by the darkness of his own thoughts and the red of Hunk’s blood. Ignoring the sound of the voices that tried to call him back, Lance began to fire, blindly aiming for any part of the Akuma at the end of the hall. The otherwise dull grey of the hall was spattered with the bright crimson of blood as his first bullet made its mark in Sendak’s leg, knocking him down to his knees as he returned fire.

His next bullet caught him in his hand, dropping his pistol to the ground as the metal of the gun skittered soundlessly across the ground.

The final bullet, caught Sendak in the chest, forcing him back onto the ground. Steps carrying him ever closer through the spreading garnet liquid that painted the ground a macabre shade, Lance thrust his foot onto the man’s wrist. Returning the pointed snarl that exposed his teeth, he leveled the muzzle of his gun with the width of Sendak’s forehead. A challenge sparked low in the dark pit’s of the saiko-komon’s glare, saying more than his words ever could.

 _Do it_.

“Someone talk to me!” Pidge’s cry of desperation pulled him back into himself just as his finger twitched over the trigger. Death is what Sendak wanted, that much was clear in the way he smiled cooly up at him in the pool of his own blood.

Lance wouldn’t give him that opportunity just yet. He wasn’t yet the monster he needed to be. He wasn’t like him after all.

Grinding his heel down into the juncture of his wrist and forearm, he growled a single warning before pushing away.

“I got him, Pidge,” he breathed, not specifying which him he meant. Relief flooded the earpiece in the form of a single, long huff of air.

“Good.”

“Now, where’s Keith,” Lance growled, blue fire lighting his eyes with a newfound calm. Blood bubbled across Sendak’s chapped lips, staining red ravines in the cracks as he choked on the gore and dark laughter.

“It is already too late,” he husked, voice hollow as his eyes began to dull. “You’re already too late.”

Snarling once again, Lance turned his back to the saiko-komon’s final breaths that rasped themselves like sandpaper across skin. Making his way to Hunk, the flames of his eyes dissipated into the sparks of fear. They set the blaze of terror running down the lines of his veins as he knelt beside his partner, hands fidgeting over the crimson that smeared itself with garish brightness over his flesh.

“I’m fine, Lance,” Hunk said, voice pinching the corners of his words with pain as he shoved a broad palm against the torn and frayed muscle of his arm. Lance knew it was a lie. Wasn’t it always? Even without the hissing of his breath escaping his teeth, he would know Hunk was doing his best to bite back the pain of the wound. The space behind his sternum trembled as he dragged air into his lungs, breaking through the one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until his chest had begun to burn.

Hunk’s dark eyes looked up at him through the fray of his inky lashes as he bit down on the meat of his lip, ignoring the garnet rivulets that were running through the spaces of his fingers. In them stood a singular question.

“Pidge,” Lance chewed out, her name coming out as a bark as he held Hunk’s gaze. “Any luck finding Keith?”

A moment spread between them, filling the space between him and his partner with unspoken worry and the sound of Pidge’s keyboard.

“Nothing yet.” Her voice was strained as it buckled beneath the weight of defeat.

“Keep looking.” Tone filled with an authority that didn’t belong to him, Lance turned his attention to the holster on shoulders, pushing them down his forearms and letting it fall to the ground with a clatter. Making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, he pulled it off his frame, leaving him in an undershirt as he began to rip strips from the cloth.

“My hero,” Hunk laughed, turning the statement dark with the charred edges of his failed attempt at humor. In return, he received a look that shined like heated steel.

“Okay, not funny.”

Nudging Hunk’s hand away from the tattered skin of his arm, Lance wrapped a strip around it, pulling a quick knot in the fabric until it was taut against his arm.

“Hunk,” Lance breathed, repeating the process as crimson began to turn the blue of his shirt a muddled shade of dark. It was a warning as glass and grit scraped against the insides of Lance’s veins, leaving him raw. A small huff moved the fringe of his bangs against his forehead as Hunk let out a shaky breath.

“I know.”

Another strip, another pulled knot.

“Do you?” Lance looked up, trying to ignore the burn that pricked the corners of his eyes. It was a familiar dance for them, saying everything yet nothing at all in the space built between them.

“Lance,” Hunk said, softer as he leant forward, pressing his forehead to the brunette’s, sweat slicking both their skin. “I know.”

For just a moment, they breathed, exhaling all they need to say until they stacked fragile bricks between them.

 _We aren’t them_ , Hunk had said once.

 _And I’m not going anywhere_.

He’d almost broken that promise. Was almost stolen from him with nothing more than an inch of molded metal.

“Guys.” Pidge’s voice was a gunshot, shattering the glass of the quiet around them and startling Lance back away from the contact.

“Did you find him?” Hunk asked, words brusque with effort as he looked away from the brunette.

“Not Keith,” she breathed, fingers on her keyboard creating a constant humming backdrop for her revelation. “Shiro.”

***

Rust ate away at the edges of Keith’s world, corroding it until it was stained a dulled red. The sharp metallic tang of the decay cut itself into his throat, filling his senses with bite of blood. Warmth dripped lazily down his cheek, tracking red lines like a map over the bone of his jaw and following the border of his jugular down into the collar of his shirt. There, he felt it catch in the hollow of his collarbone, its tickling heat cooling against his skin.

Shiro’s back was to him, the hardened line of his shoulders heaving with lost breath as his wide expanse blocked him from the older leader.

The slick sound of blood cascading onto the tiled ground created a chilling song of unharmonious plinks, each droplet ringing louder as it added to the pool at the saiko-komon’s feet.

“Shiro,” he heard the name as it slipped between the staccato drops, only realizing it was wrapped in the shroud of his own voice as it dissipated into the room like smoke. His own breath stuck itself to the insides of his throat as Shiro’s knees gave way, his body curling in on itself as he was knocked down onto his side with the same grace of a dumped corpse. Heat lightning ripped itself across his heart, creating a storm that sent torrents of rain banging against the back of his sternum.

Dragging his gaze away from Shiro’s unmoving frame and back to Zarkon, who stood frozen in place, eyes cast down to a point just above his hip. Protruding from his abdomen like a soldier at attention, was the hilt of a blade. His shirt was growing darker with a halo of slick crimson as blood began to stain the fabric, leaking slowly from the hit that Shiro had landed.

_Just, wait for me._

Shiro’s words in his hospital room burnt through Keith’s flesh, cracking it with char as the two oyabuns remained suspended, the Earth turning beneath their feet yet leaving them behind. The room filled with the hush of disbelief, the Akuma’s over the discovery of his mortality, and the Raion’s over the loss of his heart.

Grief as heavy as a tempest and mighty as a hurricane ripped an inhuman cry from his throat that flowed from his lips like juice of an overripe fruit. It was raw, and hungry, filled with the pain and loss of a hollowed out chest.

The moment of tension that rolled out over the leaders was snapped and shattered across the ground as Keith pushed himself upward, feet scrambling for purchase against the ground as he launched himself at Zarkon. Muscles screaming out against the sudden movement that popped his joints like dried twigs, the oyabun grit his teeth against the adrenaline that coursed through him. It etched itself into the back of his skin, leaving behind a string of five letters, repeated over and over like a cursed brand.

_Shiro. Shiro. Shiro._

In a fluid motion, Zarkon raised his sword in defense, Shiro’s blood staining it a shade darker than sin. The muted light of the blade was quick as it made to intercept him. Fury turned Keith into a lightning strike as he spun on his heel, fingers wrapping around the Akuma’s thick wrist and twisting as he wrenched himself beneath his arm in a morbid caricature of a dance.

“You have taken everything from me,” Keith hissed as he dislodged Zarkon’s grasp, sending his sword clattering to the ground with the ring of steel on stone. 

_Just, wait for me._

The words were a ghost, wrapping its frozen hands around his throat as the memory of his saiko-komon’s request mirrored his own, desperate thoughts.

_Shiro._

Spinning artfully behind him, pulling Zarkon’s arm up into a painful contortion against his own back, Keith leant over his shoulder, breath hot on his ear as the fingers of his free hand found the hilt of Shiro’s blade.

“You took my father.” A sharp twist of the tantō made the older oyabun gasp as he jolted back against Keith’s chest in an attempt to push him off balance. His attempts were futile, a stiff breeze against a solid mountain.

“You tried to destroy my clan.” With a tug of his wrist, he pulled the dagger free, lips pulling back over his teeth in a joyless smile. He was a demon, muscles taut with effort and veins filled with fire, sent to kill the devil himself.

“You cut down my saiko-komon.” The title hung heavy with the weight of its truth.

 _My love_.

“And for that, you will die.”

A feral snarl distorted Zarkon’s features as he twisted against Keith, pushing them both back until his back hit the flat of a wall.

“I will kill you, Raion,” he spat venom, spittle flecking his chin as he knocked a pointed elbow into Keith’s ribs. Breath left him in a single, sharp huff as he tightened his hold.

“You’re already too late,” the younger man said, cleaving the tip of the dagger through the air between them and digging its point into the juncture of Zarkon’s neck and shoulder. Gore sprayed in a crimson arc, turning Keith’s skin to ruby where it fell as he pulled the blade through flesh and muscle until it stuck in bone. The struggle was inevitable as the Akuma writhed against the clutch of death, pulling against Keith’s grasp as he opened his mouth to the slick sound of his own blood. Fight wound itself through him, his heart slowing as he bled out, staining both their world’s red.

Shoulders heaving against the wall behind him, Keith dragged air into his lungs with each painful breath, his hold viselike still on Zarkon’s wrist as his eyes found the dark form of his best friend crumpled on the ground.

“Keith?” The sound of his name was fragile, crafted from the most delicate porcelain and offered to him like a prayer. It buried itself low in his chest, cutting through bone and muscle as easily as the blade he just used, bleeding him of anxiety and leaving the sharp stab of hope in its place.

“Shiro,” Keith breathed, unceremoniously discarding Zarkon’s limp frame as he crossed the distance of the room in the space of a few steps. Shiro’s hand slipped in the slick pool beneath him as he attempted to roll himself over, a wet cough spilling red across his lips. Landing on his knees beside the saiko-komon, Keith’s hands fluttered over his body, carefully grasping as his sides as he pulled him back into the safety of his lap.

“Shiro,” he sighed again, exhaling his anguish with the two syllables as the quick glint of silver, lit by life, met his gaze. It was dull, faraway with pain and blood loss, but it there all the same. Shiro’s shirt was ripped open, leaving a jagged line of exposed and torn skin across his chest where he’d shielded Keith from Zarkon’s death blow. Tacky blood crusted its edges, the solidified liquid creating a barely there barrier that slowed the bleeding.

Fingers trembled against his cheek as they brushed heated lines over the crest of bone as Keith looked down at Shiro.

“You’re safe,” he said lowly, gaze distant as he looked up at him like he was some far off galaxy, stretching before him with endless possibility and wonder.

“I told you to stay.” Keith’s voice sounded timid and weak, the strain of his efforts finally breaking him of his strong demeanor as he returned Shiro’s gaze. There was so much blood and he didn’t know what to do.

“I had to protect you,” Shiro whispered around a breathy chuckle as his fingers continued to stroke against his cheek, each pass of his fingers painting another streak of crimson. Stars began to gather within his ribs, each burgeoning to the peak of a supernova that threatened to burn him alive from the inside out.

“I didn’t want your protection,” he growled angrily, fisting his fingers in the ruins of Shiro’s shirt. His anger seared itself into the back of his sternum and the base of his throat, the bright light working him open. Shiro’s eyes widened with hurt, as if Keith’s words did more damage than the gaping wound that left him dying in his arms. A single drop of moisture caught the light of the room as it landed on the saiko-komon’s cheek, creating a perfect circle before it trailed slowly down to his hairline. Then another, and another, until Shiro’s cheek was wet with what Keith realized all too late, were his own tears.

“I couldn’t let you get hurt,” Shiro said, fingers continuing their treacherously slow strokes, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of Keith’s skin against his. The stars began to implode, incinerating his insides with each supersonic explosion.

“God dammit, Takashi, I never wanted you for protection!” He choked on the admission, his throat thick with tears. “I never wanted a tool!”

Shiro’s tentative rumination froze, fingertips ghosting the soft tendrils of his hair as Keith leaned down into the touch. His shoulders shook with racking sobs as he tried to swallow them down, the dam already flowing freely as he bared his soul. In the space of the stars, a black hole was left, leaving him hollow.

“I’ve only ever wanted you. Just you,” his voice cracked in two.

“I just want you.”

Keith’s amethyst stare held Shiro’s as he stared upward, unfocused and unseeing as the oyabun breathed into the pain of his opened chest. A quiet, distressed gasp wheezed through the saiko-komon’s parted lips as his eyelids fluttered. The dull thud of his hand hitting the tile beneath them sent sour panic bubbling up into his throat.

“Stay with me, Shiro,” Keith’s voice shattered against the walls as he pressed the palms of his hands over the open wound of his chest. “That’s an order!”

Tears warped his vision as he blindly pushed against the wound, curving his body over the saiko-komon’s as his head lulled down to his shoulder.

“Takashi.” He was broken, his fingers clutching futilely as the one thing that had ever kept him whole. “Stay with me.”

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall outside the room, cascading down around them until they droned together, lost to the peal of Keith’s sobs. Hands shook at his shoulders, his skin numbed to the contact. In the distance, he could barely make out the sound of his own name. That didn’t matter though.

None of it mattered now.

Heart in his throat, and life in his hands, all that mattered was the stilled expanse of Shiro’s chest.

*********************


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't have a reason for this taking as long as it did other than the fact that I wasn't ready for this to be done. Closing a story is the hardest part of writing, at least, I think it is. Not just because you don't want to let anyone down with how you end it, but because it's over.
> 
> You just spend so much time on something, ya know? I've literally been done for all of 10 minutes and I already feel a little hollow because it's done.
> 
> Anyway, just wanted to thank everyone that gave my Yakuza kids a chance, and gave this a read. Y'all the true MVPs. I hope you find this a satisfying ending! ~~and if you dont please keep it to yourself until like tomorrow. right now im in mourning~~
> 
>  **Final helpful terms:**  
>  Shinku no Raion- Keith's clan. Means Crimson Lions. A clan in the Sumiyoshi-kai family.  
> Murasaki no Akuma- Zarkon's clan. Means Purple Demons. A clan in the Yamaguchi-gumi family.  
> Oyabun- Clan leader.  
> Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun.  
> Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.  
> Kobun- Clan members

_“Keith. Keith!”_

_“C’mon, buddy, you have to let him go.”_

_“Get away from us!”_

_“Calm down, Keith.”_

_“Keith! Let him go!”_

 

 **After.  
** The white of the walls had imprinted themselves into his vision as Keith traced a complicated pattern into the pristine paint with his hardened gaze. He’d woken some time ago with a heavy weight stretched across his chest that left him pinned against the feathered down of the pillows beneath his back as he let his mind wander. Back and forth, his eyes tracked the unseen pattern as he steadied his breathing.

It had been months since he’d stuck the knife into Zarkon, effectively cleaving their rivalry in two and leaving it dead beside him. Months since he had cradled Shiro to his chest in an all too late attempt to shield him from all else.

Months since his waka gashira had had to tear his love from where he’d laid unmoving his arms.

In the passing of that time, the Shinku no Raion began to heal. Giving what was left of the Murasaki no Akuma the opportunity to join them, or to abandon their territory and never return, they’d gained quite a few new members that had proven themselves quite useful.

Hunk’s wound had been taken care of quite quickly, the bullet thankfully only catching the muscle of his arm before passing through. The doctor had explained in all too many terms, that he would be fine without more than a gnarled scar for all his pain.

 _“Scars are hot, aren’t they?”_  He had joked as he faced Lance, ignoring the way the sniper was boring a hole through him with his humorless gaze.

Keith took a bit longer to heal after his old wounds had been forced back open, laying bloody groundwork for the new ones he sustained while facing Zarkon alone. It took time for his cracked ribs to pull back together, for his torn flesh to scar, and for his shattered heart to slowly piece itself together. Confined to his hospital bed, Keith pushed his waka gashira away, his bitter rage and biting heartache festering within his chest until he lashed out at everyone if only because they weren’t the one person he truly wanted to see.

 _“You shouldn’t see him yet, Keith,”_  Pidge had tried to tell him as she placed a tentative hand on his arm in a vain attempt to pull his gaze from the IVs that kept him connected to the room. As if anything so small would have really stopped him.

No, what had stopped the oyabun hadn’t been the machines, or the doctors, or even his clan, but rather the guilt that had buzzed through him from the very moment they were pulled apart.

The guilt of being the cause for Shiro’s pain.

The guilt of all the things he had left unsaid for so long.

The guilt of being too late.

Dragging a steadying breath through his teeth, Keith shut his eyes in an attempt to block out the pained thoughts.

_In, out._

_In…. out._

_In, and out._

Slowly, the weight against his chest began to stir before it finally gave way with a restless moan.

“You’re thinking very loudly.” The words were warm as they licked across his bare skin, tickling his chest before their ghost was chased by the soft brush of lips. Biting down on a faint smile, Keith began to stroke gently at the weight’s hair.

“Did I wake you?” He asked lowly as he finally let his gaze shift from the expanse of white wall and down to Shiro’s relaxed body. The saiko-komon nestled further into his chest as he shook his head, not bothering to look up from his alternative pillow as he gave his waist a squeeze.

Shiro’s recovery had taken much longer than everyone else’s combined, the blood loss and trauma taking its toll on him. But he survived. Against all odds, Shiro came back him, carrying the proof of everything they hadn’t said along the lines that marred his skin.

“It’s okay,” Shiro hummed as he began to rub circles against Keith’s rib with his metallic thumb. 

After pulling through, the saiko-komon had pushed himself to outdo any and all expectations the doctors had laid out for him with his prosthesis.

They said it would take at least a year for Shiro to fully learn how to use the experimental prosthetic. Instead, he mastered it in just over six months.

 _“Can’t leave you without a righthand man for too long,”_  he had joked, waggling the metal fingers at him as he’d laughed.

It hadn’t been funny, but Keith had laughed all the same if only because Shiro was alive, and well, and could joke. Even if they were bad ones.

“There are worse ways to wake up.” And then, as if to solidify his point, Shiro looked up, casting Keith in silver. Lips curved upwards into a smile, he let his open gaze wander across the planes of his face until they stopped with heated intent on Keith’s mouth.

The oyabun, in turn, returned the gentle caress of a look as it tracked its way along the raised scar across his saiko-komon’s nose. It had been the first in a long string of darkened marks that had peppered Shiro’s skin in his name. How many, exactly, had marred his flesh all for the sake of being his protector?

Of being his tool?

Keith had already made the man that caused the worst of them pay, but he was just as guilty, and he hadn’t paid his price yet. But he would.

Until his final breath, he would make up for each jagged line and lifted mark.

A gentle thumb brushed over the apple of Keith’s cheek, smearing a cool tear he hadn’t even realized he’d shed across his otherwise heated skin.

“Hey,” Shiro soothed quietly as he rubbed his thumb back and forth, working a low sound from the back of his throat. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong, which, in and of itself felt wrong. All Keith had known was a life where he couldn’t have the one thing that he’d always wanted for fear that it would end up ripped away, and now that he had it right there in his arms, he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. It had left him feeling both hollow while simultaneously feeling too big for his own skin.

But perhaps that’s just what it felt like to be truly happy.

“Nothing, Takashi,” Keith replied, pressing his palm to the back of Shiro’s hand so that he could hold it to his face. Turning into it, he brushed his lips across the metal of his wrist. It was warm, having been heated by his own body.

“Just a bad dream.”

Gently, Shiro turned his face towards him again waiting just a moment before he closed the distance that separated them. It was soft and unhurried as if they had all the time in the world.

Though, Keith supposed that maybe now they do.

“Who’s on duty today?” Shiro asked when he finally pulled away, shifting himself until he knelt before him, the sheet that had laid across him pooling around his hips as he waited for an answer.

During his recovery, Keith had refused to leave his side, first working himself back towards the brink of death from beside Shiro’s hospital bed before his waka gashira offered to step in. Since, they’d helped split duties overseeing the clan day-to-day, leaving the menial leadership tasks to his advisors while Keith still managed everything else. It had helped a lot, especially when Shiro had begun his physical therapy, and it helped even still as they continued to heal more than just the scars on their skin.

“Pidge.” Keith finally replied, unable to stop the laugh that carried her name as he remembered the harrowed look of some of the kobun the last time Pidge had been in charge. To this day, he still didn’t know what she had done to earn the fear that filled their gazes whenever she walked by, but he did know he never wanted to be on the receiving end of her pointed smile.

Electricity sparked across his ribs as Shiro began to drag his palms up and down his sides in slow, treacherous lines.

It was diabolical, and would certainly lead to Keith’s demise. But oh, what a sweet death it would be.

A small moan broke from the confines of his lips as Shiro moved forward, letting his lips linger over his collar bone.

For just a moment, they both breathed in tandem.

“Good,” he growled as he began to plant slow, burning kisses across the bone and towards the line of Keith’s throat. Liquid fire pumped through him with each delicate brush as if he was painting him with flames. Shiro’s careful attentions continued as he made his way along the hard square of his jaw, up and over his cheek before he lingered at the corner of his mouth.

A single bloom of aching want cracked Keith’s chest in two as he waited.

“Because I think it’s about time we discuss that house.”

Shiro leant closer, nothing more than a single breath separating their slightly parted lips.

“And that dog.”

The burning starburst of a future bloomed within him as Shiro finally pressed their mouths together, leeching him of everything he was as Keith finally let himself hope. Hope for the life they had. Hope for their clan.

Hope for their future.

Drawing his palms over the expanse of Shiro’s chest and up to his shoulders, Keith pushed slightly until he moved back. Looking down at him with a question in his eyes, the saiko-komon waited with all the patience that Keith wasn’t even sure he deserved.

“I love you,” he said finally, letting the three words fall from his lips and land atop the crumpled sheets that separated them. As each one of them found their mark, Shiro smiled.

In that moment he held every star that had marked the night sky.

“I love you, too.”

And then he kissed him again. And again.

_And again._

It was sweet, and it was unhurried.

Like they had all the time in the world.

And finally, they did.

**********************

**Author's Note:**

> YAAAAALL CHECK OUT THE AMAZING COMMISSION FROM PRINCE FOR ITTB! I'm seriously so in love, he captured exactly what I wanted and couldn't be any happier :) Not to mention, he was a dream to work with. Go give him some love! 
> 
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> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PRllNCE/status/922526652344782848)  
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